Not Today
by Ophelia193
Summary: After her world is shaken by betrayal, Rogue leaves New York and heads South. But when her new home and quiet life are threatened by the mystery surrounding the death of a teenager, she must find the truth to relieve community tension. Harder said than done when an old enemy gets thrown into the mix and her emotions go wild.
1. Ch 1: Contentment Kills

**Chapter 1: Contentment Kills**

* * *

Contentment. It's a dangerous thing. You start to take the positive things in your life for granted, pretend that all the negative things aren't really there, and ignore your instincts, all because you're comfortable and don't want to rock the boat. But it always gets rocked, and then all the good things are suddenly gone, your doubts and fears overwhelm you, and your instincts just tell you one thing – run.

I hadn't seen it coming the first time, back home in Mississippi, but how could I have? My life got upended the moment my mutation manifested. I ran, had to start anew, and should have learned my lesson. I should have seen it coming the second time.

Looking back on it, it was bound to happen. My life at Xavier's was pretty cushy. Not great, but comfortable. I had grown content with having free room and board, being able to be open about my mutation, I even had some real friends. My instincts kept telling me that was something was wrong, that I had to leave, had to create a new life for myself elsewhere. But I was far too content in my little world to listen to what I perceived to be nagging doubts.

The reality of it hit in a hurricane of betrayal and heart-break. Even if I tried, I can't remember the details of that day, just the emotions. I had blinded myself to my feelings for Logan, and fooled myself about his feelings for me. The truth hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn't the only one. It was Scott who caught them together. It was Scott who found his fiancé making passionate love to another man. It was Scott whose relationship was torn asunder by the affair. And as bad as I felt for Scott, the horrible weight of the emotions that befallen me that day made me believe that I had been the one who had been betrayed.

The mansion was eerily quiet for the next week, as if every mutant in the place was holding a collective breath. I started packing the day after it happened, and began my search for a job and an apartment in the city. The silence of the school was too much to bear, especially when my mind was constantly racing. Logan tried to talk to me once during that week, but I blew him off. I was too mad and too hurt to listen to him. There was nothing he could say to change the fact that he broke my heart without even knowing he had my heart to begin with.

The day I left, I went to see the Professor to thank him. He gave me a sad and knowing smile, and said there would always be a place for me there. Then I went to see Scott. He had taken up sitting on the dock by the boathouse, just gazing across the lake. For a while, we had feared that he would try and drown himself. We had all taken turns to watch over him. It had become clear after a few days that he was just going there to think. He was there thinking, with his head down and his feet hanging limply over the dock's edge when I walked up.

He knew I was there, but said nothing. I crouched down beside him and tentatively put my gloved hand on his shoulder. "I'm going." I told him. He nodded. "I'm sorry," was the only other thing I could think to say.

He looked at me then, and softly uttered, "So am I."

* * *

**This story is going to eventually have a pairing that I haven't used before. I've set myself to write exactly one page on MS Word for every chapter, and I hope to update every day, but no promises.**


	2. Ch 2: Start Again

**Chapter 2: Start Again**

* * *

New York City was too much for me. I managed to survive there, but it was too crowded, too chaotic, too impersonal. Every day felt like a battle, even more so than when I was with the X-Men **actually **fighting. I didn't find a real home there, never let myself get comfortable or find real friends. In the end, it's amazing that I lasted five months there, especially since two of those months were winter.

NYC had been a half-step from my life at the mansion, and I knew it. I was still close to Xavier's and still had my ear to the mutant grapevine. I heard that Scott had left New York to open up a West Coast branch of the school. I was relieved for him, he needed to move on as much as I did. I sent him a large fruit basket and a card to celebrate the opening of the school in San Francisco. I hope he found what he needed there. I hope he found the passion and the drive he lost when he was betrayed by the one he loved most.

I didn't have any plan like that. I wasn't driven like Cyclops was, I didn't have anything I wanted or needed to be. When I left my job in the city, I just packed up my old Toyota and drove south. I kept driving till I found a town I liked, then tried to find a job there. Not surprisingly, most places that seemed nice either had no available jobs or were simply out of my price range. After all, life doesn't go around handing you everything you want on a silver platter, you have to keep looking, keep persevering in order to get what you need.

I ended up in a small-ish town in South Carolina. It wasn't anything special, just a regular Southern town, where most people knew one another and did things at their own pace. I took a job at the processing plant, where I had to be covered from head to toe. That made dealing with my mutation somewhat easy, no worries about accidentally knocking one of my co-workers unconscious. What really made it home was the de facto "don't ask, don't tell" policy in the town when it came to mutants. As long as no one was using their mutation, most people there just didn't care. They were too busy dealing with normal, small-town issues like the local high school football team defeating their cross-county rivals or dealing with their asshole supervisor.

My co-workers and I would head over to the local watering hole once or twice a week, knock back a few beers, talking about everything and nothing. Most of them eyed my constant state of conservative dress, but no one called me out on it. Some of them must have thought I was just modest, a couple times people joked about me have some sort of skin condition, and while some of them must have suspected that I was a mutant, no one said anything.

One of my co-workers, Nick, was almost certainly a mutant as well. He was pretty mellow most of the time, but when he got pissed, you could sometimes feel a slight trembling in the Earth, and he would start to flex his fingers in an attempt to relax himself. No one ever said anything about it. After one of those rare attacks, he would generally buy a round of drinks for everyone, pacifying anyone who potentially would have an issue with mutants. His wife, a nice gal named Nora who worked at the bar, didn't seem to be a mutant. It was live and let live in our little town.

I was happy, I was comfortable, I was content.


	3. Ch 3: The Call

**Chapter 3: The Call**

* * *

I thought that all my ties to Xavier's and the mutant-right's crowd had been severed once I crossed the Mason-Dixon Line. It had been well over a year since I lost touch with any of them. That didn't mean I didn't think of them. I wondered how my old friends were doing and hoped that the X-Men were still continuing to fight the good fight – on the down-low, of course. I tried not to think about them too often or too long, however. Otherwise, my thoughts would always return to Logan, and how my heart and life had been shattered by him. And he didn't even know.

Sometimes late at night, my mind would inadvertently wander to the last time that Logan had tried to speak to me. In those half-dreams, I would let him say his piece. Sometimes words of regret would spill fourth, other times, confessions of love. Most of the time, however, he said exactly what I thought he would have said. That he loved Jean, that he wasn't sorry, and that I was foolish to have ever thought there was more between them than simple friendship. He'd proved that that was the case, hadn't he? He never looked at me with love and longing like he had looked at Jean. Once their relationship had been exposed, Logan unapologetically had stuck to Jean like glue. And he never made any real effort to speak to me once the affair rocked the fragile balance of our friendship.

The spiral of pain and self-pity that accompanied the contemplation of my life in Westchester was the reason I tried to keep my mind off of anything back there. For the most part, it worked. My job might have been boring, but it took concentration, and I kept myself busy otherwise. There were books to read, chores to do, friends to have a beer with.

When the phone rang that Sunday, I figured it one of the guys from work who'd decided on a last minute BBQ. After all, it was a nice day for it. I'd already agreed to bring the chips and dip in my own mind when I answered the phone. "Ahoy hoy."

"Good afternoon, Rogue. How are you?"

While it wasn't quite the **last** voice I'd expected to hear (that would have been my dad) it was still pretty far up there on the list of unlikely unsolicited calls. It took me a moment for my brain to register. "Professor?"

"I hope I did not call you at a bad time."

"Uh, no. I just didn't expect to ever hear from you again. It's not like I left my number with you. How did you – oh, right. World's greatest telepath."

"Yes. It also helped that you were in the phone book."

Yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that. "Not to be rude or anything, but what do you want?"

"I need to ask a favor."

Oh shit.

* * *

**tx peppa: Thanks for all the encouragement, you rock in stereo.**


	4. Ch 4: Steve Hanson

**Chapter 4: Steve Hanson**

* * *

"I promise that what I am asking is rather simple." The professor's calm, gentle voice made me feel like turning him down would be a personal insult. He continued, "I would certainly be happy to pay you for your time." Could he tell over this long distance that I really needed the down payment for a new car or something?

I sighed audibly, "What is it you need?"

"A boy was recently murdered not far from where you are currently residing. I have a suspicion that the boy may have been a mutant, and his death may have been due to his mutation."

"The kid from Rosewood?" I asked. I knew about the boy he was talking about. Rosewood was a couple of towns away, small and quiet like my town. The boy, Steve Hanson, lived with his mother and step-father. The kid was a normal, kind of shy fifteen-year-old. His step-father was a major league asshole who had already been arrested twice for beating on his mother. It seemed that the step-father was about to give his mother another black eye when Steve stepped up and defended her. The boy was found with his head bashed in with a blunt instrument, his mother was an incoherent sobbing mess, and the step-father was found a few hours later, blood still splattered on his clothes. Disgusting as it all sounded, I couldn't see how the mutant gene fit into it anywhere, and I told the Professor as much.

"Even so, I think there is something to this that is not yet clear to the authorities. I trust your skills and intuition, Rogue, and I'm sure that you will be able to discern the truth of the matter."

I rolled my eyes. "I still get paid even if this really was a case of domestic abuse, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay. You got yourself a private detective. Can I get one of those Dick Tracey radio watches?"

"I believe you have a cell phone that works just as well," he told me, with hint of humor in his voice.

"Fine," I said melodramatically, "Don't let me have any of your cool X-gadgets. I'll call you when I know more."

"Thank you, Rogue. But before you go – I really did hope to have an answer to my first question."

"Uh, what was that again?"

"How are you?"

What was I supposed to say? That I was still recovering from all that had happened to me when I was at the school? That I still can't confide in anyone what I am, let alone what I feel? That I'm content, and that worried me more than anything?

"As good as could be expected," I replied. He let that be enough.

* * *

**Zendska - Thanks! It's the only way I know how to write, to be honest. And every writing style has it's merits.**


	5. Ch 5: Rosewood Confidental

**Chapter 5: Rosewood Confidential**

* * *

I set to doing a basic background information search on the Steve Hanson case. Checking on news-sites, blogs, and social media, a few things became clear. No one seemed to have it out for Steve, he was mostly described as nice, yet quiet. All of Rosewood, and most of the county, was in mourning for the boy. The entire community seemed sure that it was his step-father, Nate Dockum, who had an extensive police record including numerous assaults, was guilty of the murder.

So far, nothing out of the ordinary – until I found myself trolling through old the Facebook posts of his classmates. Steve was rarely mentioned or photographed, but something about his rare appearances seemed . . . off. The few images of him made it look like he was always uncomfortable, the few posts about him referenced him acting odd, like he was constantly looking over his shoulder. There were plenty of tell-tale signs that he was a boy with a secret. The most logical conclusion was that his secret was the abuse his step-father heaped on his mother, but there was the possibility that the Professor was right, that he was a mutant who was trying his hardest to keep his mutation secret in an unsympathetic world.

If you added the two together, his step-father and a hidden mutation, there was the possibility of an explosive confrontation. Nate Dockum did not seem like the kind of man who would have taken the news of his step-son's mutation lightly. Heck, my parents were pretty decent people, for the most part, up until my mutation reared its' ugly head and they kicked my heretofore-pampered butt to the curb. I didn't doubt for a second that Dockum wouldn't go berserk in that situation.

But speculation is for amateurs, am I'm a [former] X-Man, so I'm no amateur. I knew that Nick's wife Nora was from Rosewood, so I'd hit her up for information the next day.

I tried to get to sleep early, but the fact that the Professor had tracked me down, seemingly with ease, unsettled me. I thought I could escape my past, but it seems I was just fooling myself. I've gotten pretty good at that. With thoughts of my own hubris swirling in my head, I finally fell asleep.

The next day I approached Nora at the bar after my shift at the plant. Mondays were always slow, so I figured it was the best time.

"Nora, sugar? You know that Steve Hanson's family at all?"

She shook her head and kept cleaning the glasses behind the bar. "Naw, can't say that I did. Think my auntie Shelia knew Steve's real dad back in the day."

"Oh yeah, I never heard a peep about him on the news reports – what's with that?"

She turned her dark blue eyes up to search my face, and I tried to look as innocent as possible. "He ain't around anymore," she said with uncharacteristic coldness.

"What happened to him?"

"Disappeared. Vanished. Walked home one day nine years ago, never to be seen or heard from again."

* * *

**MakingT'ingsGoBoom: Thank you, glad to hear you like it. I actually feel really uncomfortable writing first person POV, so I'm glad that it's something people like.**


	6. Ch 6: Vigil

**Chapter 6: Vigil**

* * *

Not only was Steve Hanson dead, but his father had disappeared without a trace a decade previous. Great. The two aren't necessarily connected, but it was one hell of a coincidence. From what I got out of Nora, Steve's father was pretty similar to his son – nice but quiet, with a hint of a secret burdening his conscious.

I did further research on Steve's father, Thomas, but it didn't amount to much. He had joined the army right out of high school, and was on active duty till he was 25, he then settled down and married Sarah, and they had child (Steve) together. Thomas was last seen locking up the supermarket where he was assistant manager, and was walking the half mile home, like he did most nights. Except, by all reports, he never made it home. The police still had it down as a missing person's case, since there was no evidence of foul play. Sarah had filed for divorce two years later, claiming desertion. And that's all she wrote.

On Tuesday evening there was a candle-light vigil in Steve's honor, outside Rosewood High School, where he had attended. I felt compelled to attend. Through my training with the X-Men, and my life on the road before that, I'd learned to keep an emotional distance from people. Sure, those walls I had built broke down once I got to know someone, but researching the boy's death was reminding me how unemotional I could be when dealing with hate and death.

It scared me that I could be unaffected by someone's death, especially when it was someone I could relate to. I had always despised people who were apathetic to others' suffering, I certainly never wanted to see it in myself. Yet I had to keep detached from the case. I'm not sure how real detectives do it, stay grounded while logically look into a case. Where's Jessica Fletcher when you need her?

I couldn't escape the emotions at the vigil, however. A large picture of Steve had been set up, his warm smile shining like a beacon in the darkness of the night. He had been on the scrawny side, with mousy brown hair, carelessly styled, and world-weary hazel eyes. All in all, he looked like a typical American teenager, dealing with school, puberty, and a troubled family. Ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

The candle-light vigil was a solemn affair, with many of Steve's classmates openly weeping. Laying flowers and notes at the impromptu memorial, the town exorcised its' collective grief. Sure, many of the people there were angry over his death, and confused as to the circumstances, but this was a moment for remembrance. Milling around the crowd, I overheard many things, small things. That he helped out his science partner when he was clueless when it came to a chemistry assignment, that he graciously accepted an invitation to the Sophomore dance from a girl with Down's Syndrome, that he was always the one to de-escalate an argument. Nothing about him would nominate him for a Nobel Prize, but everything about him would live on in these people's memories.

I started investigating Steve Hanson's death at my old professor's bequest, but seeing the subtle yet amazing impact he had on the people of Rosewood gave me a new reason for finding out the truth about Steve. The boy, like all people, was astonishing, and deserved justice. And justice he would get.

* * *

**GaittorBait: Happy to hear that I'm managing the first person POV alright. Thanks for reading!**


	7. Ch 7: Xavier's Shiny, Brilliant Noggin

**Chapter 7: Xavier's Shiny, Brilliant Noggin**

* * *

"Hello? Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. How may I help you?"

I hoped that my groan wasn't audible over the phone. Of all the people to answer at the school, why did it have to be Kitty, a.k.a. the girl who stole my only long-term boyfriend. Okay, okay, maybe steal is a bit harsh. Bobby and I were having problems for a while before we broke up, but I think it took him all of an hour after our break-up to go after her.

I tried to shrug off the nasty memories and focus on the matter at hand. "May I please speak to Professor Xavier?"

There was hesitation on the other end. "Who may I ask is calling?"

"It's Rogue." I spat out.

"Rogue! But I—"

"Let me talk to the professor, Kitty. It's urgent business."

"Sure, just a sec." I heard the phone click over.

"Rogue," Xavier's calm, sophisticated voice rang out, "any news to report?"

"Nothing definite. I just got a gut feeling that something's amiss. But I gotta ask – why did you think Steve's death had anything to do with mutants? It's been a week now since he died, and there's nothing more than a whisper about mutant powers. What aren't you telling me?"

"Forgive me Rogue, I felt it prudent for you to investigate with a fresh perspective, I did not mean to hold anything back. My interest was peeked in this case as I was on Cerebro when it occurred. I registered a surge of mutant energy in the vicinity, but was unable to find the cause or person responsible. When I learned of the boy's death, I assumed there was a connection, but could not be certain."

"Well I'm still not certain."

"Neither am I, but there have been more recent developments that suggest that the murder was a mutant hate crime."

"Dare I ask?" I grumbled.

"It seems that the Friends of Humanity are sending down representatives, reportedly to give financial and legal aid to Nate Dockum."

"And since those yokels are about as anti-mutant as you get, you figure they know something we don't?"

"Or they suspect what we suspect. Either way, this incident has the potential of turning explosive if not handled with care. Tread lightly, Rogue, the last thing we want is to have a riot on our hands."

* * *

**txpeppa: Glad someone got the reference. I do love those movies!**


	8. Ch 8: Tools of the Trade

**Chapter 8: Tools of the Trade**

* * *

"Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in," I muttered, opening the overnight package that Xavier sent me. After he had made it clear that he expects me to stop any pro-mutant/anti-mutant clashes in the community, he conceded to give me some equipment to aid in my search for the truth. Looking at all the gadgets, I couldn't say how many of them were legal. My guess is, not many. Certain none of them were intended to be used to snoop on a police investigation.

There were audio surveillance devices, cell phone monitoring sticks, locksmith tools, tiny GPSs, data recovery flash drives, and even a tiny video recorder. My eyes boggled at it all, especially the expansive collection of instruction manuals. I had only a basic working knowledge of these tools, and I didn't even know how I was going to use them.

My plan was to spy on the Rosewood cops, or the county sheriffs, both of which had released virtually nothing to the public. The problem was – how? I stared down into the box, even skimmed a few of the instruction booklets, hoping that the answer would pop out at me. After half an hour, it hadn't, and my eyes had gone all blurry from attempting to read the hideously dull instructions.

"I need a beer," I decided. So I headed over to where Nora worked.

It was still early, so Chris C's Bar (and no grill, as the half-lit neon sign pointedly reminded patrons) was relatively quiet. Nora was behind the bar, her husband close at hand, nursing his beer. Nick set aside the bottle and gave his wife a quick kiss.

"Get a room you guys," I yelled over at them.

Nick turned to me, "Ya nuts? When you're as gorgeous as us, everyone wants to see you go at it!" He then gave me a ridiculously big smile, big enough to show his broken tooth.

I just laughed, and heard Nora snicker too. "What can I get ya, doll?" She asked.

"River Rat Double IPA," I told her as I took a stool near to Nick. The beer appeared before me in short order and I began sipping it while half listening to Nick and another one of my co-workers, Jesus, chat about the Panther's chances this year. Perhaps hoping for an epiphany at the bottom of a beer bottle wasn't the wisest plan, but it was the only one I had.

My co-workers' conversation had rapidly turned into an argument with another patron, who insisted that Atlanta's line-up could wipe the floor with Carolina's.

"Go take a flying leap, peckerheads!" The inebriated fan yelled, getting of his stool and taking a wobbly fighting stance.

"Calm the fuck down and shut up or I'm getting you thrown into jail." Chris C yelled at the Falcon's fan.

I smiled to myself. Guess the epiphany was at the bottom of his beer bottle. "Hey, Nora. What does it take to get you thrown in the drunk tank these days?"

* * *

**Note: There really is a River Rat Brewery in South Carolina. I can't get their beer in California, so I can't vouch for it. But I really want to try that beer - I love IPAs.**

**tx peppa: I was going to call the last chapter just "Xavier," but how boring would that be?**


	9. Ch 9: Redneck Woman

**Chapter 9: Redneck Woman**

* * *

I left Chris C's with just a quick "Bye!" to my friends then headed back to my apartment.

I changed into tight blue jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt I wouldn't mind getting blood on, and a pair of heavy ass-kicking boots. I shoved some of the most crucial spy gear into my boots. Quickly checking on Yelp, I found what was deemed the shittiest bar in Rosewood – the kind of place that specialized in alcoholics and angry people.

I teased my hair a bit, 80s Texas style, and put on some too-red lipstick. I glanced at my reflection. Yep, I looked the part. Now time to play it. Time to act like the trailer trash that Yanks always assumed I was.

I drove out the Rosewood, to a place called Rambler, which was situated between a warehouse and apartment building that had several windows boarded up. There were a couple of motorcycles outside, but most of the parking lot was filled with rusting pick-up trucks. And Confederate flags on almost every single one. Yep, this was a redneck bar at its finest.

Circling the block a couple of time, I looked for escape routes if things got too hairy. I parked my old Toyota a block away near a slightly less grungy looking apartment complex – no need for anyone to know which vehicle was mine.

I strutted into the bar with a scowl on my overly-painted face and made a slow assessment of the room around me. I made it clear with smirk that I found it wanting. It was suitably gloomy, with low lighting, the stench of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and body odor hanging in the air, and noise from Fox News and Ted Nugent vying for attention. There were half a dozen people at the bar, another dozen scattered around the place, playing pool or sitting at rickety tables. There was only one other woman in the place, and she'd seen better days. Heck, she might have seen the antebellum days.

Saddling up at the bar, I asked for a Bud and a Jack chaser. I downed them in record time, and asked for another, surveying the people in the establishment. Three middle-aged men, two of them with notable beer-bellies, were eying me. I gave them a wicked smile and kept my eyes on them while downing my second bourbon in one gulp. They smiled back at me, and I had to fight to keep my drinks down from the lecherous looks they were giving to me.

The burliest of the three said something to his friends and walked over to me.

"Hey there, little darlin'."

Oh Lordy. I really didn't need him to remind me of Logan. Especially when he was pretty much the opposite of Logan. Or maybe he was the way Logan used to be. Ah! I totally missed his opening come-on lines because I was internal monologueing. "Whata ya say?" He asked, gesturing to the table with his friends.

"You're buying the next round," I replied, hoping that I hadn't inadvertently agreed to be his 'old lady.' I strutted over to the table where the men were seated and batted my eyes. It was go time.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, I got landed with last minute classes to teach that I've never taught before, so it's eating up my time. Plus, the earthquake the other day messed up my sleep.**

**tx peppa: We'll have another familiar face show up soon, but the X-Men are going to have a very limited presence in this one. I know you're a romy fan, but Remy isn't going to show up - sorry!**


	10. Ch 10: Russ, Burly, and the Stomach

**Chapter 10: Russ, Burly, and the Stomach**

* * *

"Name's Russ. What's your, baby?" The scrawny man with crooked teeth asked me.

"Anna," I lied, leaning back in my chair and taking a chug of the piss-poor beer.

"Ya ain't from around here are, are ya?" Asked the third man, who looked to be at least 50% stomach.

"Reckin' Ah ain't. Ya'll are talkin' ta a Mississippi Belle," I batted my eyes at him again.

"What're ya doin' 'round these parts?" Asked the stomach. Apparently my charms didn't work on him. I suppose only food and beer did. "Ya ain't a reporter or anythin', are ya, girl?"

"Ricky, ya ornery bastard, what kind of question is that for such a pretty little thing?" Asked Russ.

"Do Ah look like some uppity newscaster to you, sugah? Ah'm a factory gal. Why ya ask?"

"No reason," the living stomach named Ricky muttered, kicking back another beer.

"Some shits have come round, tryin' ta get the goods on our buddy Nate," the burly one said.

Well hello serendipity, pleasure to meet you. "Now why would Ah wanna talk about yo' friend when Ah got three charmin' gents right here?"

Burly and Russ gave one another a knowing look, but I continued flashing my empty smile. "Our friend done got himself in a spot of trouble," Ricky said coldly.

I gave a little pout, "Mighty sorry ta hear that. He'll get out of it okay, right?"

"Not sure. Damn pigs ain't saying what evidence they got on him," replied Ricky.

"Don't they have ta?" I asked "Or charge him? Ah remember when my uncle got hauled in fo' beating on some mutie freak, they had ta charge him, have a bail hearin' and all that jazz."

"Yo' uncle get away with it?" Asked the burly one.

I gave him a cruel smile, "We're talkin' 'bout a mutie here, not some honest, God-fearin' folk who got himself hurt." If it were possible to make myself sick with my own words, I'd have an all-purpose alternative to ipecac with the bigoted crap I was spewing out at that point.

"Good ta hear," Russ muttered.

"Nate's a good man, he was just defending what was his," Burly proclaimed.

"Sounds like a real man. Ain't like those pansy-ass mutant lovers, always whining about equal rights."

"Fuck yeah. What do those fuckers know about defending yourself, defending your woman?" Ricky asked. And now I was really confused. Just who was defending who in Steve's last hour on this Earth?

* * *

**tx peppa: I always found it strange that the two groups of people who are most devoted to teasing their hair are Texan housewives and old-school goths. Elvira could be patron saint to both sets. The earthquake did minimal damage to my house, I just have to get out the Spackle. I'd choose earthquakes over tornadoes any day.**


	11. Ch 11: Ball Busting

**Chapter 11: Ball Busting**

* * *

"Your buddy got inta trouble for defending his woman? Fo' bein' a real Southern gentleman?" I asked.

"Damn right," Russ answered, "he was good ta Sarah. Gave her everything she done need. Not like that loser first husband of hers."

"Nate shoulda done more than break a bottle over his head," Burly said, and they all laughed.

"Didn't get along with his wife's ex, huh? Can't say Ah would blame him," I stated.

"Wasn't her ex back then. They was still married when Nate gave it to him. Tommy-boy always was a weird one. Just like that son of his." Ricky said between gulps of beer.

"Both of them Hanson boys got what was coming to 'em." Russ laughed to himself. Both of his friends hit him, a silent gesture telling him to shut up. And with that, all three started to look somber.

I had had about all I could take of these guys at this point, and I was sure that they had shared all they were going to share about their friend Nate Dockum. It was time to get back to my original plan. "Doubt you would say that to that gal Sarah, now would ya?" I asked bitterly.

"Well maybe Ah would," Ricky growled back, "ain't like Ah'm tryin' ta fuck her."

I raised my eyebrow in warning, "Is that all a woman is good for? Fucking?"

Apparently didn't notice my eyebrow of doom, and laughed, "That and cooking."

I slowly stood up, rolling my shoulders back. Ricky laughed at my antagonistic stance, and told me "Don't go gettin' yur panties in a twist, girl." He then reached around and smacked my ass.

I don't remember making a conscious decision at that point, my fist moved of its own accord, right into Ricky's massive beer belly. He crumpled into his chair with a feeble whine, and his burly friend jumped up, while crooked-toothed Russ froze where he sat, eyeing all of us in rapid succession.

"You shouldnota done that," Burly warned, as his hefty hand moved toward me.

"Oh yeah, I shoulda," I replied. Before he could reach me, I ducked, swung my leg out, and struck it at Burly's shin, causing him to fall to the floor. For good measure, I grabbed one of the half-empty Bud bottle and hit it over the head of the now recuperated Ricky. "Good riddance to bad beer," I muttered, as Russ came at me.

The mêlée that ensued was the best work-out that I had had in over two years. And for the first time in two years, I was thankful that Logan had been in my life for so long. I wouldn't have been able to take out three men by myself without all his training. Fine, one of them did get in a lucky shot and split my lip, but I was the only one to be able to walk away from the fight unassisted.

I smiled in triumph as the echoes of sirens closed in.

* * *

**tx peppa: Those boys got what was coming to them pretty quick, didn't they? *evil smirk***


	12. Ch 12: The Clink

**Chapter 12: The Clink**

* * *

As the sirens grew closer to the bar, and the three rednecks were deciding between avenging their overly bloated male egos and skedaddling before the cops showed up, I sauntered over to the bar. I asked the wide-eyed barkeep for a couple shots of navy rum. He poured them as I covertly pulled a pair of gloves that Xavier sent me out of my pocket.

The 160-proof rum burned my throat and made my split lip sting so excruciatingly that tears filled my eyes. But at least that meant it was working as an impromptu antiseptic. Between slugs of the harsh liquor, I slipped on the super thin, virtually undetectable gloves. I kicked back the second shot of rum just as two policemen entered the bar.

Pleasantly drunk and still on my adrenaline high from the fight, I managed to be belligerent enough to have the cops haul me into the station. I think it was the last round of snorting and pig-calls that really tipped the scales.

Going in for processing, they fingerprinted me, and I tried not to giggle at the fact that they were getting false fingerprints from my gloves. I wondered whose prints they were getting. Sure hope that some housewife in Minnesota wouldn't get a rap-sheet because of me.

I tried to have my mugshot look like a glamour shot, but they wouldn't let me touch up my make-up. That got them another round of me oinking at them. And it didn't stop me from doing my best 'I'm so beautiful that I'm bored' model look when they finally took the picture.

"Breathe in here, please," an exhausted looking police woman told me, gesturing to a tube sticking out of a machine. I did as was told, even though it made me a little woozy. The machine beeped, and the numbers "0.09" appeared on the digital display.

"Woohoo! That was ma GPA in high school!" Laughing hysterically at my own joke, I was shown into a small holding cell.

Having never been in jail before, I had to base my behavior on what I had seen on TV and in movies. But no one would give me a damn harmonica to play! So instead, I started to warble out "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen."

"Play Freebird!" Someone yelled from down the hall. I gladly obliged, and was soon joined by two other off-key and possibly drunk voices.

We'd just gotten to the second refrain of "'Cause I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you'll never change," when a guard came in and yelled at us to shut up. Just as I was about to shout back at him, the rum made it clear that it wanted to make a return performance, so I ended running to the toilet, which was little more than a bucket in the corner. And by the looks of it, it had never been cleaned. As I dry heaved, I got my mind off of bugging the police and back on business. I had a job to do. Although it might have to wait till the world stopped spinning around me.

* * *

**I really like writing drunk Rogue, I don't know why. Probably because I like to drink. Also, I've never been arrested, so I hope I didn't get it way off.**

**tx peppa: I thought we needed Rogue to do some 616-style butt-kicking. I'm sure the firey Southern Belle is deep inside the movie-verse Rogue, just waiting to get out.**


	13. Ch 13: Nancy Drew has a Hangover

**Chapter 13: Nancy Drew has a Hangover**

* * *

Even in my inebriated state, my mind was still working on the case. I had hoped that Nate Dockum would be sitting in the back of the Rosewood police station with me, but I guess that was too much to ask for. He certainly was at the county jail by that point.

After a couple of hours my nausea had subsided, and the attempts by the other temporary residents of the station to croon the biggest hits of the 70s had been abandoned. A late middle-aged policeman with a ruddy complexion led me out of the holding cell and to a small room near the front of the station. There he started with the inane questions, like "Why did you break a chair over someone's head?"

"Who said I did that?" I asked in a mockingly innocent tone.

"The officer who brought you in reported there was a fight at the Rambler, and there were remains of a chair found on the floor there. Witnesses said you were responsible."

"Anyone thinking of pressing charges?" Although I no longer felt like my stomach was trying to escape my own body, my head was killing me and I didn't have the patience for that line of questioning. Thankfully, the officer admitted no charges had yet been filed. "Do I get my phone call now?" I asked bitterly. He grumbled yes, but didn't leave the room. "A little privacy, please," I said sarcastically. He glared at me. "Let me guess, you're too old for this shit. Oh, and you're three days from retirement."

Rolling his eyes, he left, and I quickly rung up my co-worker Jesus, who had never missed a day of work in his life, and told him to cover for me at the factory and not to tell our supervisor I was in jail. I hung up quickly as possible and grabbed one of the audio surveillance devices from my boot, activating it and sticking it between the joints on the underside of the desk. I then grabbed the flash drive I had and quickly stuck it in the USB slot, hoping that it would do as the manual said it would, and automatically copy all the files on the computer. I heard a noise outside and yanked out the drive and got back in my chair just as the cop returned.

The policeman returned me to my cell. Still smirking with my own genius, I lay down on my holding cell bunk. I knew that cops had nothing on me, neither the three rednecks I beat up nor the owners of the sleazy bar I broke a few chairs in would want to press charges. Everyone else involved certainly had more to lose by recounting the event than I did. And back at work, Jesus, Nick, and the others would cover for me till I returned the next day. I was free to recover from my hangover and plan my next move in investigating Steve Hanson's death. "Okay Miss Darkholm, your ride is here."

It took me a minute to realize the cop was talking to me. I was hoping that no one from work had bothered to pick me up. I thought I'd made it clear to Jesus that I was good where I was. I sat up from the cot as a huge figure came into view.

I temporarily forgot how to breathe as my eyes were drawn to a wide, sinister grin, equipped with razor sharp canines.

That wicked mouth smirked, "Surprise, frail."

* * *

**Cue the dramatic music!**

**Anon: Thanks! I hope I can continue to enthrall you.**

**tx peppa: I'm guess that Xavier had access to all sorts of spy gear, I'm just having fun letting Rogue play with it all.**


	14. Ch 14: Tea with a Monster

**Chapter 14: Tea with a Monster**

* * *

"Anna Darkholm, I presume." Sabertooth chuckled at my alias.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as images of the monstrous mutant roughly fastening me into a machine meant to kill me ran through my head. For a moment I was that scared 16-year-old girl again. Fear gripped me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of letting it show.

"Something I can help you with, Sabertooth?" I asked with a hint of the fire that I had hoped to convey.

He just laughed, "yeah, you can shut the fuck up and come with me."

I stood stalk still. He looked less shaggy then when he had helped Magneto kidnap me six years previous, but his dirty blond hair still hung down past his shoulders, and his impressive frame was still evident under his casual clothing. His look might not scream 'mutant,' but it certainly did scream 'don't fuck with me if you value having your spine intact.'

"Come on," he commanded with a growl, "I ain't here to kidnap ya. . ." he leaned down, his mouth coming perilously close to my ear, "this time."

I had no idea what he wanted, but I was certainly not going to find out sitting in a holding cell. I silently walked out of the cell and followed him out of the station. "Get in," he grunted, motioning to his truck.

Getting into the behemoth truck, which I suppose was the only vehicle that was comfortable to such a massive man, I remained on high alert. He started to drive, and I kept my hands in a position where I could quickly remove my gloves if necessary. Just as I was about to ask where we were going, he pulled into a diner. He stomped out of the truck and into the restaurant without a look back at me. I sat there stunned for a moment, unsure why I had even gotten into the truck in the first place. All I knew is that the feral mutant was not in Rosewood by accident. Nor had he gotten me out of jail without an ulterior motive. I wouldn't be satisfied until I found out what was going on, so I followed him into the diner.

He was climbing into a booth next to a scared looking waitress when I got inside. I sauntered up and slid in across from him, giving the waitress a reassuring smile and asking her for some hot tea before she scuttled away.

Sabertooth rapped his claws on the Formica table menacingly.

"Why are you even in Rosewood? What is it you want? " I asked.

"Same thing you want," he replied as the frightened waitress came back, setting down a cup of coffee in front of him, and a cup of tea in front of me.

I waited till she was out of earshot. "I doubt it. There's no one 'round here I'm trying to kill or kidnap."

"I have a greater skill set then that, frail." He responded darkly. Then he grinned in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. "Figured out who the mutant was yet?"

* * *

**tx peppa: Yeah, those rednecks are probably going to make up a story about taking on an entire biker gang or something. Men like that always seem to need to prove themselves, which why I was fine with having them get a serious beat-down.**


	15. Ch 15: Mismatched

**Chapter 15: Mismatched**

* * *

"I . . . wait, what?" I sputtered, managing to choke on my tea slightly.

"Have you figured out who was the mutant yet?" Sabertooth repeated, "In this redneck version of an Agatha Christie mystery that you got here in Hicksville?" His yellow-tinted eyes burned into me, scaring me, but conveying the earnestness of his question.

"Why do you even care about the Steve Hanson case? What is it to you?"

"Same as it is to you – a job."

I snorted, "They sent you in as a detective?"

"Got more experience at it than you, little girl," he spat back.

My expression hardened. "And why would Magneto care about the murder of a single mutant, if that is what it turns out to be? Isn't he a little too preoccupied with world domination?"

"Didn't say I was hired by him, now did I? Things didn't go so good last time he hired me, did it?"

I had to give him that. Being flung off the Statue of Liberty would have killed anyone else, I'm sure it did some painful and lasting damage to Sabertooth. Although he looked just as menacing as ever, so I doubted there was any permanent damage. I let out a sigh, "Okay, fine. We're working the same case for different people. Are you here to threaten me or something?"

"Or something." He took another swig of coffee as the waitress brought over a steak the size of Long Island and placed it before him. A small salad bowl was also placed beside him, which he grimaced at and pushed in front of me. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I started eating it. Between bites he muttered, "I got better shit to do than hang around here. I want to do my job and get out. Figured that if you had some info, we could. . ."

"Share information?" I looked at him incredulously. A huge smile then slid onto my face. "Oh my Lord, are you asking for my _help_?"

"No! I don't need anyone's help, especially the help of one of Xavier's little brats. I'm just trying to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. If anything, I would be helping you."

I bit my tongue on my comeback. Sabertooth was one man I doubt I could mouth off to. "I might have some info," I said softly, "and I might be collecting some more as we speak."

His keen eyes raked over me, appraising me with cold calculation. "That what you were doing in there? Gathering intel while pretending to be drunk?"

"Wasn't pretending, but yes. Nice an' subtle, nothing leading them to me."

He huffed, "Never liked subtle, myself. But I did a smash-and-grab at the school that got me some tasty information." Giving me a feral smirk that reminded me of Logan's, he asked, "Wanna see?"


	16. Ch 16: Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine

**Chapter 16: Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine**

* * *

"You broke into a school?" I asked with mild disgust. Then I realized that breaking into a school was probably the **least** illegal thing he did all day. The somewhat bewildered face he made hammered home that fact. "Okay then, what did you find out?"

"Uh-uh frail, you still owe me from bailing you out of jail. You go first."

I gave a melodramatic sigh, then sang like a canary. I told him about the hints about Steve's secret, Nate Dockum's rap sheet, and all the things the red-necks said, especially about the suspect's relationship to Steve, Sarah, and the disappeared Thomas. He listens, finishing up his steak, digesting both the meat and my information. I finish my story and there's an uncomfortable silence.

"And what's the information you're getting' now?" Sabertooth asks.

"I don't know until I get it, now do I? Your turn. Why did you break into a school and did you get actual information from it, or did you just wreak up the place?"

"I can do both," He said laconically, and I have to giggle at that. He gives a smirk in response. "Went into the school councilor's office. Read the boy's report. It said a lot of what you said, that he was withdrawn, nervous about something but wouldn't say what, and he disliked his step-dad."

"Who doesn't hate their step-dad?" I ask rhetorically.

His eyes darkened, "Guess it depends on how shitty your own father was." The phrase 'monsters aren't born, they're made' came to my mind in that moment. I wondered just what had happened to make Sabertooth into the monster he now was. "Anyway," he continued, "the one thing that stuck out was when the low-rent psychologist asked him about his parents, and he said that his greatest fear was to become like them. The councilor asked which parent he was talking about. Steve told him 'both.'"

I sat silently and thought to myself, as the skittish waitress grabbed the plates from the table. "Maybe he just meant he didn't want to go missing or get beaten."

He huffed, "You think that's what he meant?"

"No."

"Neither do I. Now what info did you get at the station? Or where you just there to pick up guys?"

I growled at him, "No. I copied some files and planted a bug. I haven't seen what I got yet."

"Then let's go find out." He stood, and started walking out of the diner. He yelled back at me, "You're paying!"

"But I only had tea and a salad . . ." I sighed, then pulled out enough money to pay for the meal and leave a generous tip for the waitress who seemed like she might need therapy just dealing with Sabertooth. Maybe I would need some too, after all this was over.

* * *

**tx peppa: I don't know why, but I love writing Rogue/Sabertooth dialogue. I layed on the 616 parental references pretty thick there, huh? I always found it fitting that Destiny's real name was Irene Adler, same name as the most intelligent woman in any of the Sherlock Holmes books. **


	17. Ch 17: I've Got Friends In Low Places

**Chapter 17: I've Got Friends in Low Places**

* * *

I managed to convince Sabertooth to drop me off at my car by the bar in Rosewood instead of driving me to my place. I told him I didn't want him to know where I lived. He gave me a twisted smile that told me he knew exactly where I lived. Which scared the shit out of me, but not as much as inviting him into my home would have scared me. Not that he needed an invitation, it's not like he's a vampire and unable to enter without consent. Although him being a vampire would explain the teeth. I told him I'd meet him at Chris C's an hour later.

Despite the horrible neighborhood that I parked in, my car was still there, and in one piece at that. I guess there's a fringe benefit to having a completely worthless wreak of a car. I muttered to myself that Professor Xavier better be paying me enough to get a new vehicle, the old Toyota was on its last legs. I drove home and quickly jumped in the shower, trying to get the smell of alcohol, vomit, and grease off of my skin. Lathering off, I let out a contented sigh as the warm water trickled down my back. Then I made the mistake of turning around and letting the hot spray pelt my face, at which time I suddenly and painfully remembered my split lip.

After removing every trace of the preceding 24 hours from my body, sans the split lip that I managed to bandage up, I went to grab the listening device's monitor and my laptop. I shuffled around the apartment longer than I should have, trying to calm myself. I was nervous about working with Sabertooth, but I recognized that he had no real reason to harm me, although I doubt that he needed a reason. For the time being, I was an asset to him, so he wasn't about to kill me if I looked at him the wrong way.

But I was still going to try my darnedest not to look at him the wrong way.

When I got to the bar, Nora was on duty and gave me an incredulous look. News travels fast in our circle, so I figured she'd heard I spent last night in jail. "I'll tell you about it later," I told her, taking an unbidden cola from her and heading towards the back. "Damn right you will," she yelled back, as I sat in one of the deepest corners of Chris C's.

I set up my laptop and was waiting for it to boot up when Sabertooth bust through the door. All eyes were immediately upon him. This man probably never had heard the word 'subtle.' He barked at Nora to give him a beer, which she did quickly, but with serious attitude. He stomped over and sat down.

"Hey, Sabertooth, I know these people. Could you not make them all hate you, and by extension, me?"

"Why should I give a shit about them? Or you?" He growled. "Now what do you got?" He pointed to my computer.

I huffed, but held my tongue. I handed him the receiver to the bug and my earbuds. I was about to tell him I wasn't sure how to use it and ask if he could figure it out, but he preemptively fiddled around with the device, placed the earbud in, and started listening. Figures he would know how to use it. He was silent for a minute as I pulled up the information from the flash drive. Then a smirk appeared on Sabertooth's face. "Care to take a trip to the hospital?"

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, I've been focused on my new cat the last couple of days.**

**tx peppa: I blame you for the chapter title. And yes, Sabertooth's going to stick around. I think he and Rogue have an interesting chemistry, and he's a deceptively complex character that I love to play around with.**


	18. Ch 18: County General

**Chapter 18: County General**

* * *

"Are you threatening me, Sabertooth?" I asked as I started going through the police computer files.

"I don't threaten, it's a waste of time." He was still listening to the receiver for the bug I had planted at the police station. "Turns out our number one suspect is there, and has been for a few days now."

Still sifting through the files, I asked him, "Why's he there? Shouldn't he be in jail?"

"He's still in police custody, he's just sick. And before you ask, they ain't saying what with." He glanced over to me. "You got anything on there?"

I was performing my fourth name search on the files, but I was getting nothing other than Dockum's booking information. "Nothing new."

"So let's pay the man a visit," he took the earbuds out and gave the receiver back to me.

"I don't know, Sabertooth . . . "

"Well I do know, so move it. And call me Victor. It's fucking weird having you call me by my code name all the damn time."

I shrugged as I put away all my spy-tech, "I always go by my mutant name. Even now."

He looked me over coolly, "Even your friends here don't know your real name?"

"Nope. Only ever told one person, and I shouldn't have. It's a mistake I don't plan on repeating."

He just nodded and walked out the door, with me close at his heels.

We took Sabertooth's, er, Victor's truck over to the county general hospital. I spent the time listening to the receiver and combing through the files again. Both turned up nothing. My bug hadn't been detected, but it also wasn't in the best room of the station for picking up juicy details about the case. At least not the case I was working on. But I did get an earful when listening to the cops questioning a prostitute they picked up. I ended up turning beet-red at some of the things she said. I'm not sure if Victor overheard or just saw my response, but he chuckled. A real laugh sounded strange coming out of him, yet also comforting. Like he was a real person under everything.

When we got to the hospital, Sabertooth sniffed around – literally – until we came across the right corridor. I knew it was right because there was a police officer stationed outside one of the rooms at the end of the hall. I guess Victor knew it was the right room just by the scent.

I was about to ask him how to get past the cop when I noticed the nurses' station, with only one frazzled, middle-aged nurse, scurrying around. The medical files were scattered about and I was so delighted to eye Nate Dockum's file, I let out a little squeak. I was hoping to time it right so I could snatch it from the desk, but was thwarted when Victor's massive hand grabbed me round the waist.

* * *

**tx peppa: Sabertooth has been around so long, and survived so much, he would be the best mentor. Except for the whole homicidal maniac thing. :)**


	19. Ch 19: Not So Friendly

**Chapter 19: Not So Friendly**

* * *

"Fuck," Sabertooth swore in frustration, quickly pulling both him and me into an empty room two doors down from where Nate was staying. My body tensed, not knowing what had caused Victor to react so suddenly. From around the door, two voices could be heard.

"Don't worry, Mr. Dockum," came a deep, charismatic, and somewhat sleazy voice, "we're going to make sure you get the best lawyer money can buy."

"Surely would appreciate it," came a weaker, but even deeper voice with a heavy drawl. "What happened wasn't ma damn fault, ya know."

"You were only doing you patriotic duty," the other man said almost wistfully. "We'll have someone—"

"Hey!" Another policeman came striding up to the room with Nate Dockum and the mystery man, and started berating the other cop who was there. Between the heated discussion about 'proper procedure,' the mystery man walked away. I caught a quick glance at him from our hiding place in the vacant room. He was a well-built man with a square jaw and light brown hair and was wearing a slick, navy suit. Something about him turned my stomach, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Peaking out of the room, I saw that the nurses' station was deserted, so I rushed out, opened Dockum's file, and took quick pictures of all the pages with my cell phone. Then I sped back to where Victor was waiting. He seemed supremely indifferent to me or what I was doing. I wasn't even sure if he realized I was there.

Sabertooth growled to himself, "That little piece of shit." He started stomping towards the main door. I followed, almost having to run to keep up to his massive gait.

I prayed that he didn't do anything to draw attention to himself. His massive size was already enough to turn heads, and if he freaked out in a hospital that would make it two nights in a row I'd have to spend with the police. Thankfully, an angry stomp and a clenched jaw were the only symptoms of the inexplicable anger that had taken over him.

He quickly jumped in his truck and I barely had time to get in the passenger seat before he sped away.

"What the fuck, Victor? What's wrong? What happened back there?" His claws dug into the steering wheel, and he let out a warning growl. I had heard my share of Logan's growls to know which was which. "We're working together now. Tell me!"

He hit the brake so quickly that I almost smashed into the windshield, even though I was wearing my seatbelt.

"Ya really wanna know, frail?" He practically yelled, a crazed look in his eye. I gently nodded. "That fucker who was talking to Dockum back there was the head of Friends of Humanity." Then his voice became barely a whisper, "A little shit by the name of Graydon Creed."

* * *

**nienerz: Rogue and Sabertooth have a sort of yin and yang thing going - they're so different that it kind of works having them work together.**

**tx peppa: Rogue probably finds a lot of Victor's traits familiar, reminder her of Logan. We'll just have to see if that gets her in trouble.**


	20. Ch 20: How to Deal with an Angry Kitty

**Chapter 20: How to Deal with an Angry Kitty**

* * *

Graydon Creed. I knew that name. I knew I knew that name. If he was the head of the anti-mutant hate group Friends of Humanity, like Victor said he was, that must have been where I had heard it. Yet I couldn't understand why the man's presence had so infuriated Sabertooth. Despite having hooked up with the Brotherhood of Mutants in the past, he didn't really seem the activist type. I assumed, even when I first ran into him, that he was just with the Brotherhood so that he had an outlet for his rage.

He had started driving again, but his white knuckles indicated that he was still furious. I asked in my softest tone, "You've had some run-ins with this man?"

"Yeah," he replied in a dangerously low voice, "you could say there's some bad blood there."

There was a double meaning there, I knew it, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I damn well wasn't going to ask, so instead I looked at the images on my phone, hoping to find out why Nate Dockum was in the hospital.

"Monge's Disease? What the heck is that?"

Victor pulled into an empty parking lot and leaned over to look at the pictures of Dockum's files. "Got me, frail," he said. He sounded less angry, but still on a hair trigger. Getting his mind back on the case seemed the best way to deal with his rage.

"Do you mind if I call someone?" I asked him.

He just grunted in response, which I chose to take it as a go-ahead. I found the contact number on my phone and hit dial. I was greeted by a friendly voice, one that always made me smile.

"Hello. Doctor McCoy's office." I always liked Beast. He understood the socially devastating nature of my mutation better than anyone at the mansion. We didn't talk about it much, but the quiet understanding we had gave me comfort.

"Heya doc, it's Rogue."

"Oh my stars and garters, my dear Southern Belle, how are you?" I stifled a giggle. I mean, who talks like that? Only one fuzzy blue genius, that's who.

I could feel Saberooth's narrowed eyes upon me, so I got to the point. "I'm fine, I just need your professional opinion."

"Concerning what, may I ask?"

"The professor might have mentioned that I'm doing a little investigating for him. I'm looking at the medical chart of the main suspect in a murder, and it says he has something called Monge's Disease. Care ta clue me in as to what that is?"

"It means that your main suspect really should lay off the mountain climbing."

* * *

**tx peppa: Almost every character in the X-universe has redeeming qualities, I think Graydon is one of the few examples. He's such a bastard, more evil than either of his parents could ever be.**


	21. Ch 21: Sassafras

**Chapter 21: Sassafras**

* * *

"Excuse me?" I choked out, not sure if we had a bad connection, "Did you say mountain climbing?"

"Yes," replied Beast calmly, "Your main suspect isn't a mountain climber, by any chance, is he?"

I glanced over at Sabertooth, knowing that he could hear every word of the conversation. His brows were furrowed in confusion, as I'm sure my own were. Nate Dockum was the burley outdoors type, but he certainly was no mountain-climber. Mountain climbing always struck me as a pursuit taken up by those with intelligence and patience, Dockum clearly had neither of those two attributes.

"Uh, no. Can't say that he is. Care to tell me what you're talking about?"

"The condition that the patient suffers from, Monge's Disease, is better known as chronic mountain sickness. If he is not a mountain climber, I must assume that there is another explanation as to why he has been taken ill with a condition caused by extreme air pressure variance."

Ow. My head hurt just listening to what Beast was saying, but I did manage to pick up the last part of his explanation. "Air pressure?"

"Yes. According to Boyle's Law, pressure multiplied by the volume of gas will remain a constant. Ergo, in high altitudes, oxyhaemogolbin plummets, and edema can occur."

"English, Hank."

"I assure you, I am speaking English."

I let out a melodramatic sigh. "English that a person who just squeaked by her high school science classes can understand."

"Ah, yes, you were always more adept at philosophy than physics." He said apologetically. "Basically, as pressure increases, gas volume decreases, and so when you go up a mountain, the amount of oxygen in your blood decreases. Without oxygen –"

"—You die. Yeah, I'm not that dumb, Doc." I let out another audible sigh, "But it doesn't make any sense, we're in South Carolina. I doubt that Sassafras Mountain is high enough to make your ears pop, let alone do what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry Rogue, but that's all I know. I wish I could garner a better explanation."

I turned and looked at Sabertooth, whose keen ears were perked up, listening to the conversation. His face was serious and grave, only a hint of his former anger appearing on his chiseled face. I shrugged at him, unsure of how to proceed. I thanked Dr. McCoy for his time and said good-bye. "It's alright, it's a clue, and we'll figure it out from here."

Although I was damned if I knew how.

* * *

**tx peppa: I already have a catnip joke or two planned. :) How can I not when I have Sabertooth around?**


	22. Ch 22: An Uneasy Partnership

**Chapter 22: An Uneasy Partnership**

* * *

"What the hell has Nate Dockum been up that made it so he's got chronic altitude sickness?" I asked semi-rhetorically.

Sabertooth gulped down another beer and replied, "Ain't got the slightest, frail." He turned and nodded to Nora to bring him another drink. Her eyes narrowed and I was afraid she'd tell him off, so I scampered over and took the beer she was pouring for him.

"Sorry," I hold her apologetically, and brought back the beer. Setting it down in front of him, I told him, "You could have just gone up and asked her for it, you know, Victor."

"And what fun would there be in that?"

"You think it's fun pissing off my friends, being an ass, and making me uncomfortable?"

He gave me a wide grin, "Better than TV."

"I oughta wipe that shit-eating grin off your face," I muttered through clenched teeth.

He chuckled, "And I'd love to see you try."

I glared at him and pulled off my glove threateningly, "I could suck you dry."

"Is that a threat or an offer?" he grinned even wider. I really should have chosen my words better. I could feel my cheeks turn red, both from anger and embarrassment. I refused to give him the satisfaction of refuting his childish innuendos. Plus, I couldn't think of a good comeback.

I put my glove back on. "How should we go about finding out what Dockum's been up to?"

"I could beat it out of him," he said bluntly.

"Uh, he's in the hospital, Victor. With a police guard 24/7."

"You think that's ever stopped me before?"

"I'd rather not answer that," I really didn't want to think about what this man was capable of. Or had done. It would only make it that much harder to work with him.

"Ever think we're looking in the wrong place?" I raised an eyebrow at that, and he continued. "Ever wondered what happed to Sarah in this whole thing? She's the only witness, and she ain't no-where to be seen."

I nodded, "I couldn't find anything on her in the police reports. If her husband did kill her son, you'd think that she would have just outright said it, save us the hassle of this investigation." I couldn't suppress a yawn, but then continued. "Yeah, you're right, something doesn't add up on her end, but I don't even know where to start looking for her."

Sabertooth looked me over, "Tired, frail?"

"I ain't frail, so stop calling me that, and yes, I'm tired. I got drunk and fought three red-necks last evening, spent the night in jail, and I've been gallivanting around the county with you all day, working on solving a mystery. For people without super-healing, that results in exhaustion."

He gave a light laugh, one of his rare, non-snarky ones. "Fine. Leave to receiver to the bug you planted with me, along with the copies of the police files, and get some sleep. We'll get back to work tomorrow, once I can figure out where the fuck Sarah Dockum is hiding."

I hoped he wasn't trying anything, but I really didn't have a choice but to leave him with the things he requested. It's not like I could've spent all night doing more research, but he could. I nodded and handed over the receiver and flash drive. I stood and stretched, realizing just how worn out my body really was.

I gave a small smile to Sabertooth, "Night, Victor."

"Night, Rogue," I heard him say as I walked out the door.

* * *

**I set a rule for myself when I started writing this thing – exactly one page (on MS Word) per chapter per day. It's just not feasible anymore, so I'm changing my rule to 1-2 pages per chapter (hopefully still per day).**

**tx peppa: I had trouble figuring out the science behind chronic mountain sickness, so I hope what I had Beast say was right. As smart as Victor really is, I doubt he understands Beast either.**


	23. Ch 23: Hard Heads in Hardhats

**Chapter 23: Hard Heads in Hardhats**

* * *

I went to work as usual the next day. The monotonous task of quality controlling concrete pipe fixtures came as blessed relief. It required my focus, and only occasionally did little thoughts like 'What was I thinking teaming up with Sabertooth?' and 'Where is Sarah Dockum hiding herself?' seep into my consciousness. The work that I normally found tedious had become a Zen experience due to my outside worries.

I grabbed a giant double cheeseburger and a salad at the food truck at lunch, the first real meal I'd had in a day and a half. Then my work friends insisted that I explained what was going on.

"You owe me fo' coverin' fo' you yesterday, eh?" Jesus not so subtlety hinted.

I just glared at him and viciously bit down into my burger.

"Come on, Rogue," teased Nick, "first you wind up in the clink, then Nora says ya come into the bar with some giant asshole – that's a giant who is an asshole, not just a regular sized guy who is a big asshole – " I rolled my eyes at his explanation, but he continued unabated. "Ya got yourself some guy troubles, missy? We gotta get medieval on this fella's ass?"

I cracked up at the serious look on Nick's face. He was trying to be a real Southern gent, defending me from an undesirable suitor, but the idea that he would actually go against Victor was as ridiculous as it was sweet.

"Ah, sugar," I said to Nick between my laughter, "Don't you worry. I'm not with Victor."

"Victor?" Inquired Jesus.

Okay, now it was time to lie – no, bend the truth – to my friends. Which I really hated, because we were generally pretty honest with one another. Although we always skirted the whole mutant issue. "Victor's an old friend and he's going through some things. He might be an asshole, and a giant, and a giant asshole, but he'll only be around for a few more days."

"I'll warn Nora," Nick muttered.

"And I wasn't technically in jail, I was in a holding cell. I went out and had a few too many drinks the other night. Some guys got fresh with me and I ended up getting into a fight. The cops pulled me in to sleep off the alcohol. End of story."

Nick raised his eyebrow, "Ya win the fight?"

I smiled back at him, "Of course."

"Thata girl."

We sat together in amicable silence as we ate. My stomach groaned in happy fullness and my heart felt lighter since I had managed to avoid any particularly sensitive area of conversation with my friends.

As Nick finished the last bite of his po-boy, he looked down at his plate, resigned. With uncharacteristic restraint, he softly asked, "Now ya gonna tell us why you're muckin' around in Steve Hanson's murder case?"

* * *

**tx peppa: I think that Sabertooth's favorite thing to do, besides disemboweling people, is to taunt them. And Rogue totally set herself up for that one.**

**Mrs. Marie Woods-Winchester: ****I like the dynamic between Rogue and Sabertooth, too. I think it's because they operate on such different levels that it makes their interactions really dynamic and often unexpected.  
**


	24. Ch 24: My Boys

**Chapter 24: My Boys**

* * *

I don't think I'd ever been taken aback by Nick before that moment. Beyond the fact that he was almost certainly a closet mutant, he wasn't the type to surprise – he was a simple, straight-forward man. I had no idea how he knew, or why he might even suspect, that I was investigating Steve Hanson's death. It worried me on more than one level. "What are you talking about, Nick?"

He let out a deep sigh and scratched his head, "Way I see it, you're taking an unhealthy interest in that poor boy's death. Ya hit up Nora for information 'bout him, you're mixin' yourself up with some mercenary-type who just happens ta show up right after the boy dies, and ya end up at the police station. The Rosewood police station. Which would never happen unless ya let it."

Shit. I did not need this. I looked over at Jesus, who was glancing between the two of us with a grave look on his face. I was glad it was just the three of us sitting there, but I was still afraid that something was about to be said that would cost me the friendship of those two wonderful men.

"Is this a mutant thing?" Jesus asked so quietly I could barely hear him. I glanced up at Nick, who was coolly assessing Jesus.

"No," Nick said. And now the unspoken had been spoken, the elephant in the room had been mentioned, the dreaded 'M-word' had been uttered. Nick continued, "but word on the street was that Steve _was _a mutant."

Jesus nodded, then said simply, "Don't matter. Whether it be the boy died defending his madre or 'cause someone hate what he was, he deserved to live. Ta grow up."

My lip quivered at the sincerity in his voice. "Damn right," I added, trying to keep the tears at bay.

The loudspeaker from the factory blared the alarm to get back to work, yet neither Nick, Jesus, nor myself moved.

"Ya need any help, girl?" Nick asked.

I shook my head no.

"Tell us if ya do," Jesus told me, holding my gaze. I smiled at him and he returned the smile, kindness shinning though his dark brown eyes.

I went back to work feeling better than I had in years. I might have had a crummy job, a tiny apartment, and no control over my socially debilitating mutation, but I had a couple of amazing friends and the ability to right some of the wrongs in this world. Go me.

I immediately went to Chris C's after work. Sabertooth was there waiting for me, just as we had arranged. He had several empty beer mugs in front of him on the table and is face sported one serious scowl.

"'Bout fucking time!" he growled at me before I even sat down.

"Nice to see you too. Get any new leads?"

He snarled a little, then replied, "That family sure likes to spend time in the hospital . . . and the morgue."

I grimaced at his reference to the young, deceased Steve, and inquired, "Sarah's at County General, too? Why would they place her in the same facility as the man who most likely killed her son?"

"Not the county hospital, the mental hospital."

* * *

**tx peppa: Rogue's meal reminded me of my first job, at a movie theater. You wouldn't believe how many people would come in, order a giant popcorn slathered in butter, a couple packages of candy, some ice cream, and a _diet_ soda.**

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: Saberthooth's been around so long that there's no way he can be stupid. Unlike Wolverine, he decided to embrace his feral nature over his human one, so to the unobservant he seems like a mindless brute. Which I think would be just fine by him, since it gives him the advantage.**


	25. Ch 25: Voices

**Chapter 25: Voices**

* * *

The county's mental health facility was small – not surprising considering its' relative poverty – but it was divided into two sections. One was for extended care, the other was for involuntary commitment. Many of the later patients had criminal records.

"I ain't gonna go in masquerading as a mental patient," I told Victor, "don't matter how many voices I really do have in my head."

He furrowed his massive blond brow at that. "What voices?"

I looked at him, stunned. "Do you really not know how my mutation works?"

"You suck out people's life and mutations."

"AND I get a copy of their consciousness riding shot-gun in my brain for all eternity."

He looked downright shocked. I shit you not, Sabertooth looked shocked. I kinda wanted to laugh, and the whole thing made me feel strangely smug.

"Magneto never told me that when he ordered me to grab you," he muttered and I tensed. Victor seemed too lost in his own thoughts to notice. "Bastard should have warned me, can't have some little girl knowin' everything about me."

I let out an overly-dramatic sigh which made him snap his attention to me. "I don't think he knew. As I'm sure you figured out when his mutation machine proved to be a monumental failure, the guys has more hubris than brains. Which is saying something, because the asshat is a friggin' genius."

"So how do you deal with the voices?"

"How do you deal with your feral side?" I shot back. He looked angry for a second, then he smirked. I gave him a sad smile and shrugged. "They're always there, always talking, always restless. Over the years I've learned to tune them out, but there's always background chatter. Sometimes it makes it hard to think, but sometimes it's like white noise – I wouldn't be at ease without it. The voices aren't distinct unless I focus on them, but I almost never do that. It feels like an invasion of privacy."

Victor had listened patiently as I spoke, digesting the information I had provided. For a moment I thought I had said too much, but there really wasn't any way he could manipulate that information into something advantageous for himself.

"Someone probably should have thrown you in there by now," he indicated the mental hospital.

"Gee. Thanks for that sympathetic ear of yours. Your compassion is remarkable," I said flatly, "especially seeing as you're the model of mental health."

"Hey! I don't got voices in my head. Just animal instincts. Big difference, sister."

I rolled my eyes, "_Anyways _– how do you plan on getting in there?"

"I don't. You gotta do this one. I'd draw too much attention."

"I told ya, I ain't playing a mental patient!"

"It wouldn't be playing," he muttered under his breath. "I was thinking you would draw upon those acting skills of yours, visit with our patient."

"I couldn't pass as family or a close friend. I barely know what Sarah looks like."

"Think, grasshopper," he said mockingly "What part are you able to play in this little melodrama?"

I thought for a moment, let the voices be heard, and a single word, uttered from an unknown voice chimed in. I smiled. "Okay, Victor, I got it. But first I gotta go home and dress the part."

* * *

**tx peppa: not everyone is going to be what they seem in this story, but I hate the idea that there are not nice humans around.**

**Kayka: I love writing Rogue when she's drunk. You should check out my other story, "I Remember that Night," which is all about her being drunk. It was so fun to write.**


	26. Ch 26: Illegal Paralegal

**Chapter 26: Illegal Paralegal**

* * *

"Hello, I need to speak Ms. Sarah Dockam," I said confidently to the receptionist, brushing off some errant lint off my best (and only) suit. Before she asked anything, I preemptively said, "I'm Irene Raven with the law offices of Eisenhardt, Howlett, and Xavier."

From the Bluetooth, auspiciously placed in my ear, I could hear Victor chuckle on the other end.

"I'm sorry – what do you want with Ms. Dockum?" asked the receptionist. She was about as young as I was, blond, with a pretty face, but a hesitant voice.

I gave her a condescending smile, and talked to her as if she were a child. "Sweetie, do you really care about the minutia of this legal action?"

"Uh-um, no. No. I'll inform the doctors that Ms. Dockum's lawyer is here."

"Paralegal. Not lawyer. I never did say lawyer now did I? And you know what happens when you make an assume something."

"You make an ass out of you and me?" She said chirpily. I smiled and nodded, and she quickly scampered away. Pulling off the bitchy legal shark act wasn't exactly easy for me, but in this town, they expected anyone in the legal profession to either be shady or have a serious ego. I put on a fake smile and waited as the receptionist brought back a rather elderly looking doctor.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said, in a kindly yet authoritative voice that was reminiscent of the Professor's, "but Ms. Dockum is not allowed any visitors at this moment."

"I'm not exactly a 'visitor,' I'm here to provide legal services. Ms. Dockum is, unfortunately, in the middle of what looks to be an especially nasty court case, which is likely to place her on the stand. I understand that she is under your care and that in her current mental state that anything she said would be tantamount to hearsay, but we do want to start by getting her statement, should anyone charge Ms. Dockum or subpoena her in her husband's case."

"A suit against Sarah?" The doctor looked warily at me.

I gave a sigh, "Yes, I'm afraid there has been some chatter about charging her with obstruction of justice. It's ridiculous, I know, and my office feels that any further legal actions would only further harm the mental state of Ms. Dockum. That is why they sent me, so I could start to build a case and preemptively stop any harassment." The doctor's face, already wrinkled with age, made his growing frown more pronounced. "If you wish," I said gently, "you can come and sit in with us during this preliminary interview."

The psychiatric doctor conceded, "Fine, you may speak with her, but I will be there with you. If at any time, if the patient appears to be under duress, I will have to ask you to leave." He turned and led me down a pale hall, illuminated by flickering iridescent lights. He stopped and knocked on a door without a name, just the number '11' differentiating it from all the others.

"Ms. Dockum," the doctor called, "Sarah, my dear." His voice was gentle and paternal. "You have a visitor."

No sound came from the other side of the door, but he opened it nonetheless. Inside the plain beige room was Sarah Dockum, sitting upright on her simple, blue flannel-clad bed. In most respects, she appeared to be a normal looking, middle-aged woman. She had soft brown eyes and dark blond hair, dulled from time and hardship, and speckled with ashen grey strands. But it was her expression that pulled at my heartstrings – she wore melancholy like a veil. Sarah gave a quick look at both of us as we entered the room, but soon returned her gaze to the bare wall ahead of her.

"Sarah, this woman here is from the lawyers." She let out a light gasp and sat stock still, not appearing to even breathe.

"Oh, no sweetheart," I said reflexively, "not your husband's lawyers. I'm here to make sure that you're taken care of, should there be any legal finagling by your husband's attorneys."

"If she asks you anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me," The doctor told Sarah calmly. She nodded.

I told her honestly, "Ms. Dockum, I was heart-broken to hear about your son," I heard Creed clear his throat through the Bluetooth, "as were all of my associates. He seemed like an amazing young man, and we want to ensure that his life and memory are left unblemished, and that you, his mother, are given answers, not left with more questions. Unfortunately, to do that, we really do need a statement from you; we need to know as much as you're willing to tell us about what happened that night."

For well over a minute she said nothing. I looked over at the doctor, but he motioned for me to be patient. Finally, she spoke in a preternaturally calm, yet cracked, voice, "I couldn't breathe," she said, still looking between us, to the wall behind. "I couldn't . . . it was like the air was sucked out of my lungs. Just like the last time."

I wanted to interrupt her, to ask her to clarify, but it had already taken her so long to say anything, I knew I couldn't quiet her now.

"Just like last time," she repeated, "when he. . . " tears started to fill her eyes, "now they're both . . ." And then the so-far detached Sarah Dockum descended into a crying fit.

* * *

**tx peppa: I think Victor knows a thing or two about having a split personality, although I doubt sympathy is something he's capable of. Although I would think that he respects someone who can cope with such a thing.**

**Lexi and Volcana: Glad to hear you like my story so far. Sorry about the delay in updating, I've been working overtime because I've had to take care of my wheelchair-bound mother along with my normal jobs. I should be back on track soon, now that I have some free time again.**


	27. Ch 27: Of Radiohead and Nightmares

**Chapter 27: Of Radiohead and Nightmares**

* * *

"Well?" Sabertooth asked impatiently.

I gritted my teeth, "I know you heard everything through the Bluetooth," I said as I climbed into his behemoth truck, which took a running start to get into. "What else do you want?"

"Well, for one thing, girly," he shot back, "I want to know why the fuck you were coddling the psycho bitch when we needed information out of her."

I snarled at him as he started to drive, "She was **not **a bitch, she's a grieving mother. Fine, her mental state ain't all that great, but she just lost her son! You suffer a loss like that and see if you aren't devastated."

"Deal," he said darkly. I had no idea what he meant by that, but I recognized that both of us were beyond pissed, and I really didn't want to start a fight with him. A fight that would probably end up with one of us mauled and the other unconscious. The silence that hung between us as he drove began to make me feel awkward, so I turned on the radio.

The crooning words of 'Fake Plastic Trees' came through the truck's stereo, feeling completely out of place in the tense atmosphere, but it soothed me to the point of no longer wanting to strangle Victor. As the final words from the song faded, Victor cleared his throat.

"Listened to the news while you were in there. They've officially charged Nate Dockum with Steve Hanson's death. Friends of Humanity have a press conference scheduled for noon tomorrow."

I nodded. "I get it, but I don't get it, you know? Nate must have killed the kid, all the evidence pointed to it. And while Sarah was crying she keep sobbing 'he hit him,' which seems like pretty damning testimonial, but I don't get the whole mutant element in this. In my book, this was an asshole beating his step-son to death for no real reason, and that's all that matters."

"It ain't what matters to my boss, and I'm guessing it ain't what matters to yours."

I rolled my eyes as I conceded his point, "Yeah, but I don't know what to do next. I mean, was Sarah being literal or metaphorical when she said the air was sucked out of her chest? Or was it all a delusion of hers, a result of the trauma she suffered?"

"Dunno," he said flatly, slowing down outside my apartment. I cringed at the fact that he knew where I lived. "You get some rest, I'll be over tomorrow and we can watch the press conference and plan our next move."

"Okay," I gave him a weak smile, "don't get into too much trouble before that, will you, Victor?"

"Who, me?"

I laughed and fell out of his truck.

I had a dream that night. I suppose I dreamed every night, but I never – NEVER – remembered them as vividly as I did that night. In my dream, I woke from my bed in Xavier's School to a panicked moan down the hall. The voice that had once rescued me cried out in pain, so I ran down the hall to his room, to find him trashing in his bed, tortured by his own nightmare. Without a single touch of my poisoned skin I tried to wake him.

"Logan," I said lovingly. "Logan, wake up."

And he did. Claws erect. Stabbing me through my still beating heart. I saw chaos in his eyes as I reached out to him, touched him softly on the cheek and . . . nothing. No pull of my mutation, no salvation in our contact. The breath was sucked from my lungs, my eyes felt heavy, and my vision turned grey. Then black.

I awoke with a start. Tears were streaming down my face as I gasped the sweet night air.

Someone once told me that if you died in a dream then you would die in real life, too. I laughed it off at the time, but in that instant, I understood. Even if your body survived the shock of experiencing your own death, your soul could not. It remembered what the end felt like, and would replay it in your mind, taunting you with the inevitable.

The rest of the night found me tossing and turning, unable to keep my darkest thoughts from taking over. I finally fell asleep as the sun was rising, having cried myself into utter exhaustion.

* * *

**tx peppa: I can't help but drop names like that, it's just too fun. :)**

**Jinx of the 2nd Law: Well you'll just have to keep reading to find out if you're right. teehee**

**Lexi: Thanks, she's doing okay. Glad you're enjoying the story.**

**tenchi13: I figure that between the two of them, they have a ton of knowledge and two completely different points of view, so they really would work together well solving mysteries. You would just have to be wary of Victor just beating any suspect to a bloody pulp.**

**Mrs. Marie Woods-Winchester: Victor's still an asshole, but he's an asshole on a mission, which involves less maiming than usual. You'll just have to wait and see what happens to them on a personal level, which I will be expanding on soon.**


	28. Ch 28: Postponed

**Chapter 28: Postponed**

* * *

Victor showed up as promised, at the crack of noon. A heavy knock on the door that almost took the door off its' hinges heralded his arrival. I opened the door with a grunt.

"You look like shit again," he said as he sauntered in.

"Do you have any filter on that mouth of yours? No manners at all? Would a simple, 'I hope you slept well' or even a 'hey there' be too much to ask?"

He glared at me. "You obviously didn't sleep well, so why would I ask something I know the answer to? And consider my not mauling you my special way of saying 'hello.'"

"Snarky bastard."

"Now who doesn't have manners? I got a century on you girl, don't talk back to your elders."

If it were physically possible, I'm pretty sure that my eyeballs would have literally fallen out of my sockets at Victor's offhand remark. A century. Well fuck. That's one serious healing factor.

"Yeah, suppose it is." He answered. I'm not sure how much of what I thought was my personal monologue I actually had said out load. I really had to work on that. Victor continued, "Friends of Humanity postponed their press conference. Heard about it on the way over."

"Huh? Why?"

"Assassination attempt," he said nonchalantly. I stared at him in silence until he realized I wanted more information. "Their leader got shot at on the way to the rally they were planning."

"Graydon Creed?"

Sabertooth growled an affirmative.

"Huh." I wished I could have mustered enough empathy to care that the creep had almost been killed, but I don't think that even Gandhi could have found it in himself to do so. Friends of Humanity were the number one mutant hate group around, a modern day KKK, but with the slick veneer of Madison Avenue. They alternatively chilled my blood then made it boil. "So," I asked Victor, "what do we do now?"

He looked at me as if I were his pet dog that had just scooted my poopy butt across his clean carpet. "We plan our next move and wait for the re-scheduled press conference, obviously."

I grabbed a couple of beers and we sat on either side of my coffee table and laid out all the information we had amassed. I certainly was not much, there were some gaping holes in our understanding. The one thing that was almost certain was the culprit in the matter, but this was a rare time when finding the murderer was not what the case was all about. We needed to know **why **the crime was committed, and if/how mutants were involved.

"I still think that Steve's missing dad has something to do with this whole thing," I muttered over my second beer.

"You said that the hicks told you that the kid's dad and Nate had gone at it before his disappearance. You're thinking that Nate knocked off Thomas and married his widow?"

"How Shakespearean. It does seem to fit, right? Thomas is always described as being like Steve, hiding something. Maybe he was a mutant, and Nate hated him because of it. Add to that that he fancied Thomas's wife and it gives him pretty good motive to kill him. And if Steve was acting too much like his father, even manifesting a mutation –"

"Some things still don't fit. What about Sarah's ramblin' about how she couldn't breathe, suggesting it had happened before?"

"Could Steve have gotten his father's mutation? I mean, that's generally how it works, right? A child of a mutant will be a mutant and might have the same mutation."

Victor's voice got dangerously low, "Sometimes. Sometimes the kid has no mutation at all."

"I could sworn that Hank once told me that a child of a mutant was almost always a mutant."

"Not. Always." he growled. Then finished an almost empty beer in one go.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh shit, Victor had a human child.

* * *

**Mrs. Marie Woods-Winchester:** **You're welcome :)**

**Lexi: We're getting to some of it, I promise. So stay tuned.**


	29. Ch 29: In The Blood

**Chapter 29: In the Blood**

* * *

They say that blood is thicker than water. Bullshit. If that were true, my parents wouldn't have thrown their only child out on the street once they found out I was a mutant. If it were true, there wouldn't be rage in Victor's voice every time fathers or sons were mentioned. If it were true, child abuse wouldn't be endemic around the world.

There is love, there is loyalty, but those things don't necessarily run in the bloodline. Sometimes, the only family you can trust, the only family worth caring about, is the family that you make for yourself. I had found this out the hard way, and it seemed that Victor had as well. I can't say that I knew him that well, but the anger and pain that he voiced at the very mention of familial ties proved to me that it was not he that severed whatever ties of kinship he once had. Like any person or animal that had been injured, his instinct was to lash out at the world. My best guess was that Sabretooth had been injured repeatedly, mentally and physically.

And so as I sat, staring blankly at our pilfered police files and empty beer cans, I couldn't think of a single thing to say to Victor to ease his pain. Because there was nothing to say, nothing but platitudes which I wouldn't believe, so I wouldn't subject him to them.

In the quiet that descended, I think Victor realized I knew his little secret. He didn't say it, neither did I. It was just understood. Eventually he spoke with preternatural calm, "There is a good chance that if Thomas was a mutant, Steve was too. Inheriting the exact same mutation isn't common, but inherited mutations tend to be similar to the parents. It could explain the experience Sarah talked about. And it would be another reason Nate would have wanted the boy dead."

I nodded, "Makes sense." Then I stood, stretching my cramped muscles, which had been sitting on the ground for too many hours. "I'm hungry, I'm going to order a pizza. You want some?"

"Three meat-lovers for me."

I raised an eyebrow, "I'm ordering food, not women."

He let out a light chuckle, and I almost wanted to dance for joy. Finally, I had been able to get him back in some small way for all dirty things he had said to make to make me blush. Rogue: 1, Sabretooth: . . . .37. Damn, I was still way behind. Maybe I should've dug around my mind a little, seen if Logan's psyche could help me out on the rude, dirty comeback front.

I ordered the pizzas while Victor turned on the TV. "Your television's shit," he told me, working comedically hard to make the remote work with his huge fingers. "No, wait, I take it back. You get the NHL Network, so it's only half shit."

Sabretooth's massive form had taken over most of my second-hand, threadbare couch, which was the only place to comfortably sit and watch TV. My backside couldn't cope with sitting on the floor anymore, so I grabbed a couple of beers out of my fridge and presented one as a make-shift barter item to Victor. He scooted infinitesimally, allowing me to squeeze in between him and the armrest.

Although I was fully clothed, wearing tights under my short skirt, a long-sleeved shirt, and gloves, it felt strange sitting so close to someone. Through my clothes, and his, I could still feel the heat of his leg on mine. It was a little disconcerting. I hadn't felt the heat of another human body in years.

I tried to keep my eyes on the television, but my vision kept returning to Victor. He still looked intimidating, but he was still a good-looking man. He had cut his hair significantly from when I first knew him, and his trimmed blond hair showed his strong masculine features. There was still something very animalistic about his amber eyes, even when he was relaxed there was something wary and menacing in the way his eyes were ever vigilant. A small part of me was still scared of him, but a larger part of me was feeling increasingly comfortable, even content with his presence. Perhaps my slight inebriation may be blamed, but I felt a kinship – the kind that mattered – with the giant, murderous mutant next to me.

* * *

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: Short chapters are all I'm able to put out right now, sad to say.**

**Lexi: I promise, answers are coming.**

**tx peppa: I always giggle at guys who drive those monster trucks, it is so impracticable. And what do you mean, young people waking up late? I'm in my 30s and I woke up today at 11am . . . with the help of my alarm clock.**


	30. Ch 30: Meet the Press

**Chapter 30: Meet the Press**

* * *

By the time the postponed press conference was announced that it was about to presume, Victor and I had gone through fourteen cans of beer and three and a half pizzas. Admittedly, most of it had been devoured by the angry behemoth, who claimed he could practically eat his weight in food every day. "Feral metabolism" he called it; "lucky bastard" I called him. We had managed to rattle off some rather far-fetched ideas about the mystery surrounding Steve Hanson's death. The mention of the illuminati was what made us decide to sober up, especially since the press conference was about to start.

"Fucking FoH asswipes," I said as Sabretooth changed the channel to the local news station. The screen showed a small church, decked out in uber-patriotic decor. Flags, colorful ribbons, an impressive podium, and a banner with the phrase 'Fighting for American Families' tainted what was supposed to be a house of God, a place of love. It made my stomach turn.

With much fanfare and applause, a sole figure approached the podium. It was the same man I had glanced talking to Nate Dockum at the hospital, Friends of Humanity founder Graydon Creed. The man was athletic, with neatly combed short brown hair, cold grey eyes, and was impeccably dressed in a black suit. I little American flag pin, placed on his lapel, completed the finely crafted image of an intelligent, charismatic, patriotic American. Too bad he was a soulless prick who ran a hate group.

"My fellow Americans," he began. I groaned. "I come before you today because of a tragedy, a tragedy that strikes at the heart of the American family. A terrible tragedy has shaken this community, the quintessential American town of Rosewood. Many in the liberal media have tried to paint this tragedy as being perpetrated against an innocent young man. I tell you today, that this in no way reflects the facts of this case. No, my fellow Americans, it was not an innocent young man who was victimized, it was a family who was victimized by the insidious mutation that turned a boy into a monster. Once that monster was unleashed, the only options available to Nate Dockum were to defend himself and his beloved wife, or suffer death at the monster's hands."

"Nate and Sarah Dockum have both paid a terrible price for the government's inaction in the regulation of mutants. They are the true victims here, yet they are the ones being scrutinized, demonized. The Friends of Humanity has vowed to help these noble Americans defend their rights – the right to life, the right to freedom from fear, the right to live the American dream. We shall defend them, as we defend all God-fearing Americans. We shall defend them with our last breath!" I could see a spark on insanity as Graydon passionately preached the words. Beside me, Victor was growling.

"Even now, there are those in the community that would try and stop our good works, they wish us to live in fear, live under the boot of the deformed and the demonic. Just this very morning, one of these despicable creatures, or one of their misguided supporters, attempted to silence me permanently." The insanity in Graydon's eyes was increasing, as was the growling coming from Victor. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so uncomfortable and anxious. "Thankfully, this attempt was thwarted by several brave and patriotic members of the FoH. Yet even if this monster had killed me, the voices of the American people would not be silenced. And those voices cry out against the horrors that have attacked our traditional values! Voices like that of Nate Dockum! We will defend these voices till the end, my friends. Today, it is through legal action, with a team of dedicated lawyers. But to all those who would threaten to silence the voices of Americans, know this: we will not hesitate in meeting force with force!"

Victor's growl turned into a full-on roar as he jumped up and swiftly threw the remote at my television set, shattering the glass and sending out sparks.

"Fucking hell!" I yelled in alarm.

Victor appeared not to notice my existence as he started furiously pacing my small living room. His angry mutters were only partially coherent, and I couldn't discern all that he was saying. ". . . bastard . . . his mother should have swallowed . . . can't do anything right . . . not going to let him . . . not that it's a good name to begin with."

While he was venting, I ran over to unplug my short-circuiting television. I looked down at the smashed set, "not like it was worth anything, but it's all I got."

Victor suddenly turned to me, almost shocked to see me there. "I'll buy you a new one," he said in a dangerously low voice. I shivered.

"Just . . ." I cursed the weakness of my voice, "just tell me what's up."

He snorted derisively at me.

"Please," I asked.

He looked me over, an angry fire still in his eyes and his cheeks still flushed with anger. He gave me a single, obliging nod.

* * *

**tx peppa: I'm normally awakened by my cat whacking me with her tail, so I can't sleep in too late either. Not sure if a plot bunny will show up and give me an idea for a sequel - so far I'm just trying to figure out how to tie up all the loose ends.**

**Lexi: Patience is a virtue. . . a virtue that I don't have either. Some answers are coming pretty soon.**


	31. Ch 31: The Blood Runs Cold

**Chapter 31: The Blood Runs Cold**

* * *

"I've got to stop the little shit," Victor told me.

"Graydon Creed? But wouldn't that just make him into a martyr?"

"Possibly. Probably. Don't care."

"Shouldn't you?" I asked incredulously. "We're fighting for mutant rights here."

"No!" he bellowed, and I instinctively shrunk back. "You and your precious professor, and even Magneto are fighting for mutant rights. I ain't. This is personal."

"What did he do to you?" I looked him over sympathetically. The fury that emanated from him was visible in his clenched hands, bared teeth and animalistic eyes. I'd seen the look before, in Logan. Not the rage of battle, that was a different kind of ferocity, this was anger born of a deep wound that never healed. Logan would get it any time Stryker or the labs was mentioned. Whatever the vile Graydon Creed had done to Sabretooth, it enraged him equally.

It took me a moment to realize that Victor was carefully looking me over as well, his nostrils flaring to pick up my sent. He slowly moved in front of me, using the fluid movements of a predator. "You want to know what kind of monster I am, little Rogue?"

I was confused by the question. And undoubtedly unsettled by it.

"I know what you are, what you've done," I answered with all the calm I could muster.

He gave a cruel, cold laugh. "You have no fucking idea. I eat little girls like you for breakfast. Don't you ever fucking forget it, frail."

His cruelty was due to his defensiveness, I could tell. That still didn't change the fact that he was a cold blooded killer who was looking at me like I was his next meal. Right now it didn't matter to him that I was helping him on the case, or even that I understood him. All that he saw was another person that had the ability to hurt him if he didn't strike first. "I know, Victor," I told him, "it's hard to forget."

He seemed sufficiently satisfied at that, and his defensive posture softened slightly. "Good," he said coldly, then turned away from me and began to pace again.

"You can talk to me, you know." He ignored my statement. "It ain't wise to just go after Creed –"

"DON'T call him that," he roared at me. "That piece of shit shouldn't have that name to begin with. I'm not going share my name with the mutant-hating fucker." I stood there dumbfounded as what he said sunk in. He continued with a cruelly twisted smile, "I'll make sure he don't sully my bad name much longer."

"He's your son," I breathed out.

"Some fucking detective you are."

"Why do ya hate each other so much?"

He laughed, almost hysterically. It was even more frightening than his evil cackles. "He hates me for what I am. I hate him for what he's not."

"You hate your son because he isn't a mutant?"

"Don't give a damn about that. Yeah, he ain't a mutant, but worse yet, he ain't even good enough to be called an animal. He wouldn't do shit for his own kin. Would recognize his own blood, wouldn't protect it; he would fight against his own family. He wanted me dead long before I did anything to him." If I hadn't known Victor as well as I did, I would have missed the way his voice had faltered, ever-so-slightly, with his last words. Fuck, Sabretooth, the Sabretooth, had actually made an effort to be a father. And he had been rejected. That was the kind of pain that I knew all too well.

I stepped toward him, submissively lowering my head, "Your son and my parents should start a club." I didn't realize that I had teared up until I felt a tear running down my cheek. I'm not sure where the welling of emotions was coming from, but both Victor and I could qualify as emotional powder-kegs at that moment.

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. I was still looking at the ground when Victor held out one of his claw-like nails and used the blunt side to lift my chin so that he looked me in the eye.

He moved his head slowly down to mine. I was shocked to think that he was trying to kiss me, and I was even more shocked to think that I wanted him too. Seemingly at the same instant, we both remembered my poison skin, and I was about to warn him away when he suddenly changed course, and instead he placed a light kiss on my forehead, where my hair covered my skin. I was so surprised by the gentleness of the gesture that I was at a loss for how to react, so I stood stalk-still. Victor didn't wait for my reaction, he just silently walked to the door and let himself out.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, in my darkening apartment, with a smashed TV, empty beer cans and pizza containers littering the floor. I didn't know how I felt about the dangerous and mysterious man that had suddenly become central in my life.

Maybe I had imagined the would-be kiss. Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see in Victor. Maybe I was falling into some trap he was setting. Maybe I didn't care.

* * *

**Jinxofthe2ndLaw: It's so funny you say that, because I had already written the big about making Graydon into a martyr when I saw your comment. You and Rogue are definitely on the same wavelength.**

**tx peppa: Graydon truly makes my skin crawl. Hell, he's so evil he makes Sabretooth's skin crawl.**

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG:Before this chapter Rogue didn't know Victor's last name, but she still was slow in figuring it all out. **

**wiccagirl-2005: Glad that you like it, I'll try and keep the chapters coming.**


	32. Ch 32: Emotional Hangover

**Chapter 32: Emotional Hangover**

* * *

I didn't see Victor at all the next day. For that I was mostly thankful, since I was still confused about the whole thing, yet I was still a little dejected. I'd say 70% glad, 30% sad. Okay, maybe 60/40 . . . the 60 being sad. Damn I hate myself sometimes. Acting like some moony eyed schoolgirl when I knew better.

Once again, I found relief in the idea of going to work – normal, boring work. Just as I was grabbing my keys to go to the factory, my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Heya Rogue, it's Nora."

"What can I do for ya, sugar?"

"Well, uh," Nora hesitated, "Are you goin' ta work today?"

"Yeah. . . shouldn't I?"

"It's just that I'm worried, what with the FoH makin' a stink, and the word 'mutant' bein' bandied around. Nick says I'm bein' silly, but I wish he'd stay home today."

I wished Nora had been right there so that I could give her a big hug. She and Nick had what I considered to be the happiest, healthiest marriage I knew. Her concern for him was ceaseless, just as his love for her was ceaseless. Sometimes I envied them, but mostly their happiness just made me happy. It was a little affirmation that good people sometimes got the happiness they deserved.

"Ya can't let assholes push you around, you know that," I told her, "And I ain't going to live in fear."

"You're as ornery as Nick is, ain't ya?"

"Darn tootin'."

Nora laughed melodically. "Alright, alright, I'll let Nick go to work. You two look out for one another, and come straight to the bar after work."

"Yes, mom."

"Your mom sent you to do homework at the bar too, huh?" She laughed, and hung up before I could think of a comeback. That gal always had to have the last word.

Despite Nora's reservations, work was fine, but there was a distinct tension in the air that manifested in relative silence. I say relative because the manufacturing of cement piping ain't exactly quiet. But everyone seemed a little on edge, which manifested in less chit-chat than normal. None of the tension was directed at me, although I really wasn't sure how many people suspected I was a mutant. The code of 'don't ask don't tell' may have been broken by the FoH in Rosewood, but our little community still stuck to its' willful ignorance. I'm pretty sure this was the only time I approved of ignorance of any type.

I tried to focus on work, but thoughts of Victor kept butting in. I didn't know what I felt for Victor, if anything. Sure, he was attractive, more intelligent than people gave him credit for, emotionally complex, didn't seem to be afraid of my mutation, and could even manage humor or sincerity, from time to time; but what did all that add up to? He still was a terrifying individual with unknown motivations who couldn't be trusted.

Steve Hanson's case was still stalled and I had no idea of what to do next, although I realized that it was what I really should have been focusing on. I was glad when the work bell rang and Nick grabbed me, Jesus, and the gal Jesus was pining over (I think her name was Niema) and flat out told us all we were going to Chris C's.

"I would say you're whipped, Nick, but I really don't want that getting back to Nora. I'd hate to see what she'd do." I smiled cheekily at him.

"She told you about that?" Nick looked alarmed, then suddenly calm, "Oh, you meant the other kind of whipped. Okay." We were all a bit late to the bar because we all had a laughing fit.

* * *

**tx peppa: Victor's loyalty is difficult to earn, but it's even more difficult to lose. He'll do anything for the few people in his life he cares for. He's kind of a tragic character in that way - his loyalty is always repaid in pain.**

**Lexi: Okay girl, breathe. I promise, I will get to it, all loose ends will eventually be tied up, it might just take a bit of time.**

**wiccagirl-2005: They may end up kissing, they may not. *evil grin***

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: I'm so thankful to you and everyone else who reviews. It really does motivate me, and sometimes I get inspiration from some of the things you write. Thank you.**


	33. Ch 33: A Bartender's Work is Never Done

**Chapter 33: A Bartender's Work is Never Done**

* * *

My friends and I walked into the fairly quiet bar. Nick quickly sprinted over to the bar and gave Nora a smooch, whispered something to her and then headed back to his regular table with our other two co-workers. Nora smiled and nodded me over to her. "Ya brought my hubby back in one piece, girl. Ah gotta buy you a beer."

"What would have happened if I'd brought Nick back in several pieces?"

"I would have had ta buy ya two beers," Nora grinned at me while pouring me an IPA. Her smile weakened and her normally exuberant voice faded, "Everything go alright at work?"

"Everyone was a bid subdued, is all."

"Good," she handed me my drink. "You okay?"

"About the whole FoH thing? Yeah. . . but . . ."

"What did the big lug do?" She asked knowingly.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Nora raised her eyebrows, "I've seen that look in one too many girls' eyes. That big galoot you were here with, something's goin' on between you two. An' now you're all morose. So spit it out, 'cause you know Ah ain't goin' to let this one go."

"An' exactly why won't ya let this one slide?" I grumbled.

"I've know ya two years now, gal. You're smart, sweet, and sassy **but** I haven't once seen ya with a man . . . or a woman, for that matter."

"That's 'cause there ain't been no one," I confessed, "can't be no one."

Nora lowered her voice so no one else could possibly hear, "Is this about . . . are you a mutant?" She looked apologetic, as if she hated to ask the question.

I nodded ruefully. "Yes on both accounts." I looked into Nora's sympathetic eyes and decided to unburden myself. It had been so long since I'd been truly honest with anyone about this. Keeping everything to myself had become an especially exhausting burden lately. "I can't touch – so I can't be with anyone. Ever."

"Ah, babe, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. We all got something, don't we?"

"I suppose. I mean, it's tough for me to deal with being a badass diva with a body to die for."

"Ain't there a support group for that kind of thing?"

"Yeah, but only Beyonce and I are in it, and she's off tourin'," Nora smirked. "But seriously, what's got you down with that big harry asshole?"

I gave her a bittersweet smile, "I think he wanted to kiss me. And I think I wanted him to."

"But you can't . . ."

"For more reasons than one."

"What other than your mutation is keepin' you from bein' with him?"

"He ain't exactly relationship material."

"That's what they told me about Nick."

I had to laugh at that one. "I don't know what Victor really wants. He has his own agenda. But one thing he definitely doesn't want is a serious relationship with a girl he can't touch. I mean, why would he?"

"How do you know that for sure?"

"Because he's the very psychical, very short term relationship type, if you get my drift."

"And he's happy with that?"

"Not sure he's happy with anything in his life."

"Well then, I think you just answered your own question on why he most certainly **would** want you, mutation and all."

* * *

**tx peppa: Let's put it this way - I don't want anything to happen to Nick or Nora either, and I have a little say about what's going to happen in the story.**

**Lexi: I already have the next chapter written, so they'll be an update tomorrow for sure.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Victor's off doing . . . things. Probably not good things, knowing him.**


	34. Ch 34: A Walk in the Woods

**Chapter 34: A Walk in the Woods**

* * *

"We're going hunting," Victor barked at me over the phone.

"Again, a 'hello' first is normal procedure."

Victor's growl echoed over the line, "What the fuck is normal about us or what we do, Rogue?"

"Touché."

"Meet me in back of the Dockum's place in an hour. You can't miss it, it's the shittiest place on the block." He slammed down the phone.

As I pulled up to the Dockum residence, some 47 minutes later, I was forced to agree with Sabretooth. The beige, ranch style home was in clear decay, with paint that was visibly peeling, revealing a hideous chartreuse paint job underneath that could only have been justified in the 1970s. If ever. A rusted-out pick-up sat on concrete blocks next to a sedan that made my hunk of junk look like a luxury vehicle. The yard looked relatively well kept, especially in comparison to the house and the cars, with only recent indications of neglect. The frayed yellow police tape gave the home an air of depression and despondency that it well deserved.

I wandered past the home, skirting the chain-link fence that enclosed the back yard, and headed towards an area forested with a mixture of oaks and pines. There I spotted a massive figure with its back turned to me.

"You're right," I told Victor as I walked up to him, "it was the crummiest house on the street. And that's before the police tape. Those kind of hicks make hicks like me look bad."

He grunted, "I feel the same way about the runt."

"Runt?" I asked.

Victor's nose was up in the air, breathing in deeply, his eyes and ears both keenly observant. He ignored my question. His eyes shot wide-open and he told me "this way" as he started off into the woods at a brisk pace.

I had to jog to keep up. Victor was almost completely silent as he stalked through the underbrush, while my footsteps echoed on the stony clay soil.

"Why are we out here, Victor? What are we lookin' for?"

"Won't know till I find it."

"Thanks, Señor Snark. Now give me a real answer."

"Dockum's lived at that place for over two decades," he ducked under a branch that I doubt I could have touched even if I took a running jump at it, "while Steve Hanson and his family lived a half mile away."

I smiled knowing what he was getting at, "Straight though these woods?"

"Ya ain't as dumb as you look."

I ignored the insult. "So if Nate Dockum **did** kill Steve Hanson all those years ago, there **might** have been some evidence of it between the two homesteads. Great theory and all, but even if there **had** been evidence, it's been years. It's long gone by now."

"Guess you never absorbed someone with feral senses before."

"Oh contraire, I have. It's just . . ." I wracked my brain, trying to remember what it had been like the couple of times I had touched Logan. I remember that my senses had been bombarded that it had gotten to the point where they were completely overloaded: all the smells made me nauseous, all the noises gave me a headache, all the sensations made me want to curl into a ball till it all went away. "You can single out scents?" I asked him. "How are you able to do that? It all just drove me nuts."

"I've had a bit of practice," he said dryly.

"Really, how did you do it?"

"Focus and practice. It helps to be in a place like this. Natural. Calm." Sabretooth's pace slowed, then he stopped and sniffed the air. "We got some possibilities. Gonna take a while . . ." he muttered, presumably to himself.

In a flash he was standing in front of me, inches from my face. I gave a small gasp but resisted my instinct to back away from him. His eyes looked molten and his smile had twisted into something between a smirk and . . . something I couldn't define. Then he spoke, and I could define it from the tone of his voice. Lust. "Looks like it's your lucky day, girl."

And then he kissed me.

* * *

**tx peppa: Bartenders are like low-cost psychologists. And Rogue really needs go get back to one of the real X-teams so she can have normal friendships again. The Wanda drama is stupid and exhausting.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Victor was off actually being a detective, figuring out where the Dockums and the Hansons lived.**


	35. Ch 35: Fallout from a Kiss

**Chapter 35: Fallout from a Kiss**

* * *

After my initial shock that Victor was kissing me, I melted into his kiss. It was passionate, and possessive, and a little rough – his fangs grazed my lips. It was exactly what I had wanted, what I needed. If only that moment of perfection could have lasted. All too soon, I felt my mutation kick in and my skin began to absorb Victor.

Practically frozen with the rush of thoughts, feeling, and sensations that had seeped into me, I didn't push Victor away as I probably should have. After a couple seconds, he pulled back, clearly weakened and pale, and staggered a few steps back till he rested his heavy form on an old oak tree.

I smiled weakly at the lingering heat on my lips while I processed Victor's influence. He hadn't kissed me out of insatiable desire, much to my chagrin. He had done it for a far more pragmatic reason, namely to more efficiently hunt for any clues in the area by lending me his powers. But there was still a fair amount of lust directed at me.

I smirked at him and said with confidence, "You want me."

Using all his strength he pulled himself upright and gave me a look that probably made lesser men tremble. "And you want me. What of it?"

The smirk still firmly on my face, I sauntered over to him till nary a breath was between us. His eyes were cold and forbidding, and he didn't shrink from me even though he had just felt the full effect of my powers. I was searching for something sassy and sexy to say to him when I realized that despite our flaws, the deadly power at our disposal, and the overall destructive nature of our mutations, neither of us was afraid of the other. Suddenly, it didn't feel like a game anymore. Whatever connection it was that we had, it deserved more than mindless flirting. And so I let all pretenses die, hoping Victor would do the same.

Victor spoke plainly, "We got no time for your frail crap, we have work to do. Take a long, slow breath in, tell me what you smell."

I closed my eyes to focus on the scents in the air. I smelled Sabretooth, earthy, salty, and oozing with testosterone. The woods around me smelled crisp, with the decay of leaves, dirt, and the clearly different scents of oak and pine. Yet ever here and there, there was a scent of something amiss, unnatural. I turned towards one of the smells, something clearly metallic. "Metal, over there, not far." I opened my eyes to see Victor looking at me, a satisfied look on his rapidly recovering face.

"Looks like you got the hang of it. Let's split up, see what we can find."

I nodded and started to follow the metallic scent while Victor went off in the other direction at a far more brisk pace. It took me a couple of minutes to track down the metal, which was nothing more than an empty beer can. I became more adept at discerning scents and tracking their exact location as time went on. Whether I was refining my skills or Sabretooth was subconsciously helping me, I don't know.

After about half an hour, I could feel my feral senses in rapid decline, so I rushed over to Victor and asked him what he wanted to do about it. He said nothing, just gave me another deep, passionate kiss. Then he sent me on my way. If it weren't for the fact that I really did want to find some clues, I would have just wandered around the forest, going to kiss Victor every half hour. As it was, I was rather tempted by the idea.

I managed to keep my mind mostly on my work, focusing on hunting down anything that smelled like leather, fabric, or rubber, which I figured would be the best bets. There were plenty of beer cans and bottles to taint the scent of the wilderness, but I was looking for evidence of a murder, not teenagers drinking in the woods, so I did my best to ignore them. Digging up what ended up being my second ATV tire wheel, a little bit of Victor's psyche popped to the surface of my mind. His consciousness was different from anyone else I had absorbed. He was fueled by passions: anger, lust, conquest, gluttony. In many ways he was an animal, living on instinct, he was just an animal with the mind of a man. A surprisingly bright man, as it seemed. But long ago, he embraced the feral part of his nature, which he felt had the sort of honesty that mankind did not. I had to agree with him on that point. Animals could be mean, but they're never nice to your face, making you trust them, just to be extra cruel to you later.

"Huh," I muttered to myself, tracking down a mixed scent of leather and rubber, "maybe I don't want Victor, maybe I just need a pet." I laughed to myself as I knelt down on the ground and started to dig up what was destined to be another shoe. My nails were already shot to hell from tearing away at the clay soil. I wish I had had the foresight to bring a shovel. I sighed as I came across the sole of a shoe, but kept digging, just in case.

"I should collect all these shoes, maybe I'd be able to find matching pair eventually," I said loud enough so that Victor might hear. I couldn't see him from where I was, but I could sense he was close. The black, faded New Balance shoe was almost free of the ground, so I tried to pull it out, but met with some resistance. I yanked harder, and managed to dislodge it, but also managed to fall back on the ground with the effort. I growled at the shoe responsible for my predicament, but my growl ceased once I looked down at my quarry. Several bones filled the shoe, and from the hole I had dug a leg-bone protruded.

* * *

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: Yep, you were right. But it's not like he had to kiss her to lend her his powers . . .**

**tx peppa: I kind of hate how they made Rogue from the movies middle-class. I liked that she was poor white trash that made something amazing of herself.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Rogue was probably thinking the same thing, about damn time he kissed her.**


	36. Ch 36: Alas, Poor Yorick

**Chapter 36: Alas, Poor Yorick**

* * *

"VICTOR!" I screamed in panic.

My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it would burst right out of my chest. My breathing came hard and fast, and I recognized I was half way to a panic attack. I closed my eyes and attempted to dim my senses, to keep my panic at bay, but I was instead assaulted by fragments of memories from the people I'd absorbed: A body being blown to bit by a mortar shell; naked, emaciated bodies being thrown into a furnace; the dead eyes of a Japanese woman, blood still flowing from her wounds.

I sat there hyperventilating, trying to push away the sudden flood of horrific memories. When I finally pulled myself back to reality, the first thing I noticed was a large hand, placed reassuringly on my shoulder. "Sorry" I squeaked out.

"Flashback?" He asked knowingly.

I let out a long, measured breath. "Yeah. Not even mine. Got plenty of violent lives up here," I tapped my head.

"If there was anything about disemboweling someone," he said, while retracting his hand and standing up, "that's probably on me."

I don't know why, but that made me laugh. "Nope, not today. But I'll be sure to yell at ya about it should that memory pop up."

"I bet you will," a small amount of the amusement was in his voice. Then he looked down at the decomposed foot and leg. "You okay now?"

"Yeah, it was just the shock that caused me to freak out."

Victor began to brush away the soil around the leg, "From the decomposition, I'd say the body's been here a while. Years, but not decades."

"How can you tell?" I looked down at the filthy black shoe, contemplating the tiny bones mixed with the dirt.

"Flesh is gone within a couple of weeks in this environment. Meat's gone in a month or two. Fabric goes in a couple of years, but that shoe you found, made of leather and rubber, would take decades."

I smiled at his back as he continued to shift the earth, "You know, if you ever want a legit job, you'd made a great CSI agent."

He turned to me with an eyebrow raised, "Why the fuck would I ever want to go legit?"

I shook my head and carefully began to take out the dirt and bones from the crumbling shoe. There were a few strands of fabric, but nothing interesting.

"Good," Victor said, staring at the hole he had rapidly made. I tentatively walked over to where he was looking and saw mostly buried shoulder bones, neck vertebra, and a skull. Victor gestured to the mouth. "Teeth are intact. Even those moron hick cops should be able to match the dental records."

"I really don't want to have to wait for them, do you?"

"Fuck no. Keep looking for something to ID this stiff."

I rolled my eyes, "Really sensitive, sugar."

"Sugar?" He raised both eyebrows at me this time. I just gave a sassy smile in return.

For once I was happy to always have gloves on, it made dealing with a corpse slightly less disturbing. I tapped the dirt and remains out of the shoe, glad that Victor was right and there was no skin or meat left, because that would have been too much for me to handle. Unfortunately, there was nothing else in the shoe other then dirt, a few threads, and bones.

Sabretooth was still digging around the head, so I went for the other foot, having a decent idea of where it lay. I knew on a rational level that this body could belong to anyone. Plenty of people go missing, plenty of bodies never are found. Yet I still had a feeling in my gut about whose body we had discovered.

"Found the other foot," I announced proudly as I came across the dingy black leather. I was mostly proud that it hadn't brought on another panic attack. This time I carefully removed the dirt from around the body, allowing the foot to be unburied before I fiddled with it. The other shoe didn't seem attached to anything, but once again there were bones in the shoe. I tapped on the shoe, causing the dirt and remains to fall out. And on top of that small pile fell out a single piece of plastic. Brushing away the dirt, I realized that time had scratched off all the color from what once was a credit card. I held it up to the fading light, and gleefully told Victor, "Looks like Thomas Hanson and I had similar ideas about where to stash emergency cash."

* * *

**Sorry for the lengthy delay, folks. It's been an emotionally exhausting week for me, resulting in zero creative energy.**

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: I promise, Rogue will reflect on the kiss and what she got from him more later. She's sensibly putting business first for now.**

**Rae: Sabretooth is a difficult character to write. He's a psychotic beast, but also intensely loyal, and far smarter than most people give him credit for. It's a fine line to portray him accurately, but I hope I'm doing him justice.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Now we know whose body it is, but the bigger question is how did it get there?**

**tx peppa: Now I have an evil inclination to have a scene where Rogue forces Victor to give her a mani-pedi.**

**Mrs. Marie Woods-Winchester: No, he certainly didn't have to kiss her. But he certainly wanted to. :)**


	37. Ch 37: What, No Pedicure?

**Chapter 37: What, No Pedicure?**

* * *

"Well, that's one question solved, but yet another mystery," I said to myself as much as to Victor.

After discerning whose body we came across, we left the scene and Victor had phoned the cops, informing them the location of the body from the first working pay phone we came across. We then returned to my place where I immediately set to cleaning my nails with a nail brush. Victor stood next to me, over the kitchen sink, cleaning his claws with a screwdriver.

"Already figured that Thomas was dead," Sabretooth said coldly. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, I thought it was likely. But now we're sure. How long do you think it will take the cops to determine the cause of death?"

"Those fucktards?" He dug the screwdriver extra hard into the underside of one of his filthy claws. "Might be a while. They might never figure it out. If he was shot, they should find the bullet soon enough; if he were stabbed, chocked, or bludgeoned, they might not be able to tell unless it reached the bone; if he were poisoned, they might find traces of the toxin, but it's unlikely."

"Poisoned? Who would have been able to poison him?"

"Someone at his work might have been able to, but if it was poison, Sarah would be the most likely suspect."

I scoffed, "Sarah? His wife? I don't think so."

He slammed down the screwdriver and turned to me, irritated, "Are you so goddamn naive that you don't think she's a suspect? Most murders are in the family."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" I whispered, not even sure what I meant.

In a quick, fluid movement that sucked the very air from my chest, he grabbed me, both his enormous hands around my shoulders, and forced my back against the wall. His eyes darkened, and I knew immediately that whatever caused me to speak had come from his psyche. A thought or memory he didn't want known, and certainly not spoken.

"I'm sorry," I said meekly, "I don't know where that came from."

"Like hell you don't," he said in a low voice. His eyes bore into me, and while it was frightening, I almost felt more scared for him than for myself. If he had been slightly less menacing, I might have asked if he walked to talk about it, but I somehow doubted that Sabretooth was big on 'sharing.'

"The most recent psyches are the loudest, closest to the surface," I explained, "I didn't mean to pry, I'm not even sure exactly what I meant."

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. I figured he was trying to detect my honesty via scent and calm down at the same time. When he finally opened his eyes, he nodded at me slightly and let me go. I guess I was right on both points. "So how much do you know?" he asked in that creepy unemotional voice of his, which I knew he used to hide his stronger emotions.

"Bits and pieces, is all. Some thoughts you had when you kissed me," I smiled at the memory, "some random feelings, instincts, possibly memories. But at this point, I got so many of those, it's hard for me to tell what belongs to which personality." He gave a grim smile and went back to cleaning out his claws. I smiled again, remembering the lust he fed into me when we kissed, and the scent of his burgeoning arousal when I still had his feral senses. "Of course," I said with a little bit of girlish delight in my voice, "I could smell your emotions, back when you lent me your mutation."

"If you're looking for a talk about 'our relationship,' I'm outta here right now."

I laughed, "Yeah, no. We both know that nothing can happen between us. It was just nice to know for once that someone actually wanted me."

It was now his turn to laugh. "You're shitting me, right girl? You got everything that makes a red-blooded male want to rut with you for days."

"Stop teasing," I said, the laughter gone from my voice, "that's something I can never have."

"What? Your skin? Any moron with more brain cells than toes can find a way around that."

I let out a sigh, "Yeah, well, no one's bothered to think of a way around it. Or more importantly, risk it."

Sabretooth once again put down the screwdriver and forced me to face him, but this time, he did so gently. "Who wasn't willing to risk it, Rogue? Them or you?"

Damned if he didn't have me on that one.

* * *

**tx peppa: I couldn't actually find much on body/clothing decomposition rates online, so I asked my husband. He knew a lot about it . . . if he weren't an amateur archeologist I would be really worried about that.**

**wiccagirl-2005: I grew up on mysteries, due to my parents, so I'm channeling everything I ever learned from PBS mysteries.**

**Rae: In my own mind, the memories that assaulted Rogue were Victor's, Erik's, and Logan's, respectively. Those have got to be the three worst sets of memories anyone can have. Poor gal.**


	38. Ch 38: Chicken Vindaloo and a Warm Lager

**Chapter 38: Chicken Vindaloo and a Warm Lager**

* * *

I was so emotionally and mentally exhausted, I couldn't fully cope with what Victor had said to me. I was pretty sure it amounted to him saying that he was willing to deal with my mutation in order to be with me. At least that's what I thought he was getting at. Or maybe I just projected it. Maybe he was talking hypothetically. Damnit, see? Can't cope with it, even now.

"Want to see if we made the nightly news?" Victor asked me, grabbing a beer from my fridge without asking.

I let out a low growl at the bottle in his hand, "I've gone through my monthly beer budget in a week because of you."

He gave me a wide, snide smile, and held my gaze as he opened the beer and started to chug it. I let out an exasperated sigh. "You're such a prick, ya know that, right?"

He made a little popping sound as he removed the now-drained bottle from his lips. "An' you're one hot-headed prig, you know that, right?" he asked mockingly.

I narrowed my eyes at him in an attempt to look menacing. He just laughed, "I'll pay for dinner, how about that? Anything good around this back-water hick town other than pizza?"

I let my faux-intimidating look fall, since it clearly hadn't worked. "There's a decent Asian food place that does delivery. I'll dig out the menu," I told him, rummaging through my junk drawer.

"Asian food?" He gave me a strange look he fished around my fridge for yet another one of my beers. "That's not a thing. Over half the folks on this planet live in Asia, ain't like they all eat the same food."

I triumphantly raised the unburied take-out menu over my head. "This is the rural South, Victor. Not much of an Asian population 'round these parts, not many people who know the difference between _kaeng_ and _vindaloo_, it's all just curry to them."

"Let's hope whoever is making the damn food knows the difference," he said, and snatched the menu, then started barking out a half dozen dishes he wanted while I called them up.

"Food should be here in half an hour," I told him as I sat down next to him on the sofa. He had turned on the news, which was the normal sordid mix of political gridlock, celebrity gossip, and doom-and-gloom about some new influenza strain. "Ya ever made the news, Victor? I mean, like, network news?"

"They've referenced my work."

"Don't want to know."

"Shouldn't have asked."

"Well now I know. And knowing is half the battle."

"Wha—" Sabretooth started to inquire when the newscaster on TV was handed a bulletin.

"**This just in . . ."**

"Here we go," said Victor with a smirk.

" **. . . it appears that one of the central figures in the mysterious death of Steve Hanson, Sarah Dockum, the boy's mother, was rushed to the emergency room this afternoon. The hospital has listed her in critical but stable condition. Citing privacy laws, County General was unable to elaborate on her injuries, but undisclosed sources say a suicide note was found in her room."**

Victor and I looked at one another, both of us at a loss. Then the doorbell rang.

* * *

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmG: Yes, we are getting somewhere. But first, curry.**

**tx peppa: Glad that you accept my unlikely pairing, I'm finding it fun to play these two off one another.**

**Lexi: I do try and update at least every other day. Try being the operative word. But enthusiastic responses like yours often give me the little push I need to sit down and write.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Victor can be damn perceptive. I don't know if Rogue knows why she isn't willing to risk a relationship.**


	39. Ch 39: Introductions

**Chapter 39: Introductions**

* * *

Victor got up to see who was at the door. It ended up being a very scared looking teenager, hauling a big box full of our food. Correction, a big box full of Victor's food, with a little bit for me. Damn that man could pack away the grub.

Sabretooth paid for the meal while I kept staring at the TV, the image they flashed of Sarah Dockum still burned into my retinas long after they cut to commercial break. When I had gone to see her, she seemed unstable, but I hadn't thought that she was in any way suicidal. I kept replaying our interaction in my mind, feeling like I had missed something, missed some sign.

Victor placed my chicken _chow mein_ and _palak paneer_ in front of me on the coffee table as he stared gobbling down his own food. "Why did she do it?" I asked. I was asking myself, Victor, and the universe in general.

The feral man next to me said nothing for a while, just kept stuffing his face with _Bò lúc l__ắ__c._ After a minute he said, "Plenty of reasons people do it. My guess is that it just hurt her too much to keep living." His eyes were strangely soft as he spoke.

"I'd have thought you'd be a little less sympathetic – suicide is quitting, after all. Seems like something you'd despise."

"Can't really despise someone for being in so much pain that they found the assurance of living to be more horrific than the uncertainty of dying."

Just then, the news went to credits and Victor turned to the listings to find something else to watch. Went to the fridge and grabbed myself a beer, my stash of old stock ales, very yummy and very alcoholic. I normally didn't drink too much, but I figured the Hell with it. My emotions were spent, I just wanted to drink and forget.

"Fuck I hate this reality TV shit. Ain't nothing real about it." I smiled and nodded, handing him a much weaker, cheaper been than mine. He didn't seem to notice.

We settled on watching a Bela Legosi monster movie marathon. About half way through 'The Bride Vanishes' and almost all the way through my six-pack of ale, I somehow found myself leaning contentedly against Victor. He seemed not to mind having my head against his massive upper arm. But the guy was so big, my weight against him may have been no more than a fly on an elephant's back. I started to feel nicely drunk.

"Did you mean it . . . what you said earlier?"

He rolled his eyes as he turned to me, "Girl, you've had a taste of my mutation. Was any part of that telepathic?"

". . .that you'd risk it, being with me?" I hated myself for ever asking it, even in my drunken stupor.

"Yeah, I meant it," he responded. I swear there was a bitterness about it, but I couldn't understand why. "What the fuck does that matter?"

Suddenly indigent, I shot upright on the sofa and practically yelled at him, "It matters to me, because no one has ever said it before. They've just given me the 'I care about you, even with the powers, Rogue' line or the 'no one worth your time will care about your mutation, Rogue' bullshit. But I care! I actually want to** be** with somebody. I want someone to think of mutation as more than just a security gate to keep assholes out. I want someone to see me on the other side. To not call me 'Rogue' in that condescending voice and recognize that I'm a real woman, who's been to hell and back and bought the fucking T-shirt –"

"Ya mixed your metaphors a bit there –"

"I want people to treat me like you treat me. Not like a fragile fucking doll. Not like a vampire that will suck the very life from you on a whim. Like a grown woman, who can take a joke without breaking or lashing out, who can flirt and actually mean it. I get sick of being 'the Rogue' all the time, sometimes I want to be me—"

"What's your real name?"

"Marie." I said it without thinking. When I realized what I had uttered, I suddenly felt sober, although I knew I wasn't. I fell back into the sofa. I had just revealed my name to someone. It was the first time I had done that in six years. I still felt the sting of that last admission, I didn't want to feel it again.

Victor gave me a lopsided grin and slowly held out his clawed hand to me. "Hey Marie. Name's Victor Creed. One-hundred-and-fifty-plus-year-old killer and all-around psychopath. How do you do?"

I had to laugh at his nonplused manner. I held out my gloved hand. "Hey Victor. Marie D'Ancanto. Twenty-three-year-old factory worker-slash-mutant succubus. Glad to make your acquaintance."

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, folks. Student evaluations took up far more of my time than I thought they would.**

**tx peppa: A friend of mine from the South recently told me about his hometown "Asian food place." Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, that just blows my mind. Good thing you've got an Indian restaurant, a good tandoori chicken is a thing of beauty.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Yeah, the last chapter was short. My muse went on holiday. Along with my sanity.**

**Lexi: I might take breaks from my stories once and a while, but I've had my heart broken by one too many unfinished stories to ever inflict that one someone else. Promise.**


	40. Ch 40: Aren't We Popular This Morning?

**Chapter 40: Aren't We Popular This Morning?**

* * *

At some point in the night, after I had seen Bela Legosi's plans foiled for a third time, I passed out. I awoke, alone in the near-darkness, curled up like a cat, shielding my eyes the cold light of morning that was creeping in from the slit between my curtains. I had no idea how I had gotten to my tiny bedroom from the living room. Under normal circumstances I would be extremely worried about that, yet there was an annoying electronic hum that was aggravating my hangover-headache that took precedence over any other concern. I reached over to my bed stand, ready to smash my alarm clock, only to realize that it wasn't the source of the skull-splitting noise.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pant pocket and answered "Hello?" in a soft, croaky voice.

"Good morning Rogue. Are you alright?" Oh great, the professor. I so didn't need his paternal concern right at that moment. What I needed was aspirin and a two-day nap.

"Yeah, fine," I tried to sound more alert than I was, "What can I do for you?"

"I was calling to inquire on the status of the investigation, but if this is not a good time . . ."

What? The butt-crack of morning right after a bender not a good time? Perish the thought. "No, no. Sorry, I'm just tired. Now is fine. What do you want to know?"

"Just an update will suffice."

Oy. Where to begin. And when did I star saying 'Oy'? Dammit, must be Magneto. "Sure, professor. The step-dad's still the most likely suspect, his own legal team seem to admit it. The mother is losing it, suicidal, but she referred to something that sounds like Steve might have had a mutation, one that might be like one his father might have had. Damn that's a lot of 'might's'." Shit, meant to think that. "Oh, and I found the body of the long-disappeared father in the forest yesterday. Step-dad probably killed him too, judging from what his drinking buddies said. Informed the cops of the body, now I'm waiting to see what the forensic guys find. And the FoH have been around here, stirring up trouble, but nothing serious. Creed is here." I carefully left out which Creed I was referring to, but then again I didn't know if Xavier even knew Sabretooth's real name. Dollars to donuts said he did.

"Well, you have been busy," he said, a tiny hint of astonishment in his voice.

"Sure have," I said through a yawn, "but I ain't got any solid evidence yet, can't even be completely sure that Steve was a mutant." Just then, a thought occurred to me and I hurried to get the professor off the line. "Promise I'll call when I have something concrete."

"Thank you, Rogue. I wish you all the best. And feel free to call if you need anything or have any concerns." I could almost see him, sitting at his desk in his study: a cup of tea cooling beside him, kindly blue eyes encouraging me, a slight smile at my brisk manner.

"Thank you, I will," I smiled, even thought it somehow made my throbbing head worse, then hung up. I looked down at my phone just long enough to confirm that I very nearly had to be up for work now anyway. I let out a little growl, then headed to the bathroom, preying I had plenty of aspirin left.

I had just washed down four pills with a big swig of water when the doorbell rang. I let out a pained yelp due to the ache it inflicted on my already pounding brain.

Transforming my pain into anger, I marched to my front door and swung it open with a snippy "What?"

Victor stood there, both his posture and his gaze made it clear he was unimpressed. "Did a badger just die in there or was that you yelling?" I let out an exasperated sigh and was about to rip into him when he preemptively said, "Forget it, you're clearly in no shape for a clever come-back. Didn't come here to fight with you, believe or not."

"I believe it not."

He ignored me and pulled a large box into view. It looked like a box for a huge framed painting. I grimaced, confused. Blame it on the alcohol, but it took me a good thirty seconds to realize there was a picture of a wide-screen television on the box, along with the words 'Super-High Definition.' My mouth fell open.

"Since I busted your old one the other day," he explained with some bitterness. "and your replacement was even shitter than the first one."

My lip quivered a bit, but I pulled it into a smile. I couldn't think of anything to say to him. This was beyond anything I could have hoped for. I had planned on hitting him up for the fifty bucks it took to replace the TV at some point, but he actually went far beyond that without me even asking. I didn't know what to think.

He seemed to be unsettled by the silence, so he added "Plus, I ain't watching anything on a TV that you got from 'Slick Ricky's Pawn Shop' ever again."

I let out a light laugh. "How did you know I got it from there?"

"He carved 'Slick Ricky' into the side of it. Didn't you notice?"

I just shrugged.

"Oh, yeah, you're going to be a great detective."

"Hey now. I actually managed to think of something just the other minute that will give us some answers. But I need some help."

"Sure," he said with a shirk, "Ain't got nothing to do till the bars open."

I wasn't sure if he was serious or not. "Yeah, I need help, but not from you . . ."

* * *

**XvampiresXwolverineXOmg: They get each other, it can lead to occasional cuteness.**

**Rae: I like 'succubus' more than the oft-used 'leech'. Way sexier.**

**wiccagirl-2005: Sanity is over-rated, if you ask me. Or maybe it was the flying orange moose over there that asked me.**

**tx peppa: Now I'm half-tempted to do a crack-fic with Victor learning to ballroom dance.**

**Lexi: Don't let Sabretooth hear you call him a cutie, I doubt you'll survive the experience.**


	41. Ch 41: Partners in Not-Quite Crime

**Chapter 41: Partners in Not-Quite Crime**

* * *

I convinced both Nick and Jesus to meet Victor and me at the bar immediately after work. After briefly discussing the plan with Sabretooth that morning, it became clear to us that we needed an accomplice or two for our next bit of sleuthing.

When we got to the bar, Victor was already waiting at a back table, stretching his arms casually over the back bench with a feline grace. I couldn't repress a smile at seeing him. I chalked up the strange feeling in my stomach up to nerves, not to any feelings I had toward him. Because I'm good at bullshitting myself like that. I smiled even wider at the full pitcher of beer and clean glasses that Victor had ordered for us, and sent him a questioning look.

"Don't worry, frail. It's Thomas Creek, not some of your piss-poor generic American shit."

"Oh, quality beer. Marry me."

"You'll have to ask my father's permission first," he said flatly. He poured the beer while my two co-workers and I sat down.

"'Righty now, ma little Rogue," Nick said to me, reaching for his beer, "if you an' the big fella are willin' ta ply us with the good hooch, I reckon ya'll are about ta ask us for one dozy of a favor."

I smiled sweetly at him and Jesus, "See? You two are both so bright an' intuitive, which is why it's **your **help we need."

"We in real trouble," Jesus grumbled, sipping his beer.

Victor ignored him. "We need someone to do recon. Rogue and I are too noticeable and we've been spotted around police stations and emergency rooms one too many times. I don't care to tango with the local law, since I wouldn't even break a sweat and it would just leave me frustrated."

"Is that like a berserker's equivalent to blue balls?" I joked. He ignored me, too.

"A new face is necessary if we're going to get any information on the case we're working. You in or not?"

"Depends," Nick said seriously.

"On what?" Victor spat out.

"On what the Sam Hill you two are really up to."

Sabretooth and I exchanged a quick glance, then I spoke. "Like we talked about a while back, we're investigating Steve Hanson's death. We have cause to believe that it's more than it seems. And someone who was very good to me once asked me to find out who killed him and why. I want to find out the truth for him, for Steve, for everyone who cared about that boy."

Jesus leaned toward me and carefully placed his hand on my covered arm. "And the truth we will find."

"You're willing to help?" I looked hopefully at Jesus.

"'Course. Said I would be there for yo' if you asked. Not going to back out on a friend." I clapped my free hand on his. Damn he was a sweetie. I really needed to get him a girlfriend, as payment for his help, and because he would just be such a good boyfriend to some lucky girl. Maybe that gal in payroll . . .

"Good. We need to see some files from the county hospital." Sabretooth told him, then emptied his glass in one quick gulp. Nick still looked uncertain, his eyes darting between us.

Jesus looked thoughtful for a second, then his dark eyes lit up. "Easy enough. I can grab my brother's work ID, it looks similar enough to the IDs at the hospital."

"Playin' doctor, are we?" Nick smirked at him.

"No," Jesus laughed, "All de medical terms I know come from _Law and Order_, won't fool anyone. But I go in an' act like a janitor, no one will look twice at me. It's what those red-necks expect me to be."

I grimaced, "Ain't bigotry grand?" I said sarcastically.

"It is if it gets us what we need," Victor replied.

"Hell, I'm in too," decided Nick. "I'll be lookout for ya, buddy," he slapped Jesus on the back.

"Okay," Victor intertwined his fingers, putting his potentially fatal claws on full display, "Here's the game plan. . . "

* * *

**tx peppa: Yeah, Rogue should really check to see if there's blood on the box with the TV in it. I wouldn't put it past him to rip someone's arm off to get a gift for a friend.**

**Lexi: Victor is a cocky bastard, but that's why we love him, right?**

**Rae: As psychotic as Sabretooth is, he takes care of anyone he deems worthy of his time. If I ever get really drunk, I might just do a one-off fic about Victor dancing. But I mean REALLY drunk.**


	42. Ch 42: Pack

**Chapter 42: Pack**

* * *

I was pacing. I was fretting. I was pacing and fretting. "What have I done? What have I gotten them into? If they get in to trouble, it will be all my fault, you know. And Jesus is so close to getting his citizenship. He can't have a criminal record. If I cause him to get deported, I'll never forgive myself! And Nick. I know he's got a record a mile long, but not since he married Nora. He's been on the straight and narrow ever since. He's afraid that he'll lose her otherwise. I doubt that's the case, she loves the idiot, but she might for all I know! I could ruin their marriage! Why did I ask them to help? I should have just bought a wig and gone in there myself."

Victor was sprawled out on the sofa, beer in his hand, half-heartedly watching ESPN. "Watching you work yourself into a panic attack is fun and all, but will you SHUT UP!?"

I froze as the force of his yell made windows shake. For a split second there, I felt like I was seventeen again, being menaced by one of Magneto's goons. Specifically, the goon who was now my friend. Occasionally I forgot what a dangerous and unstable man he was, only to be reminded in the most frightening of ways.

"We're in," said a soft, grainy voice. I looked down to my phone sitting on the coffee which I had placed on speaker mode. Nick had discreetly placed his Bluetooth under his shaggy hair before he had left, and promised to keep it on and us updated.

"Crap. Did you hear my rant?"

"Not all of it," Nick whispered, "You were talking too fast around minute 12, so I didn't get all of it."

Victor let out a loud bark of laugher, but kept nursing his beer and watching Sports Center.

"Maybe we should have codenames," Nick suggested in a conspiratorial tone, "I can be Spade and Jesus can be Archer."

"Archer was killed five minutes into 'The Maltese Falcon' dipshit," growled Victor.

Nick didn't respond to us, but started to ask for the nurse's desk, then got into a conversation with an unknown person. Victor muted the television.

"He best be keeping an eye on Jesus," I said quietly.

"He is, you can hear it."

I looked at him in confusion.

"Fine. I can hear it," Victor told me, but didn't elaborate. We sat listening to one half of Nick's conversations, along with the random background noises of the hospital. There was no worry in Nick's voice, nor was there any sound out of the ordinary, yet I still felt tense. I plopped down next to Victor with a frown.

"Ya think I'm bein' silly for fussin' over them, don't ya?"

"Yeah. But I get it. You look after your own."

I leaned my head against his shoulder with a sigh, "They ain't my kin, but they're as good as. Better, really. They know what I am and didn't reject me because of it."

Victor stared vacantly at the TV, not really seeing the flickering images on the screen. "Gotta protect your pack," he said softly, practically whispering, "gotta hold on to what's yours." The sadness in his voice pulled at my heart-strings. Without giving myself a second to reconsider it, I found a spot on his cheek that was veiled in his dirty blond hair, and quickly kissed it.

He slowly turned to me, a confused but tender look on his face. Who knew Sabretooth **had** a tender look? One of his clawed hands cupped the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. We gazed at one another for what might have been a second or an hour. I was searching his eyes for answers to questions that I couldn't put into words. What did I find there? Confusion, happiness, loss, lust, understanding. Or maybe that's just what I thought I saw there. There was only one way to find out for sure. I inched my lips closer to his; he didn't impede my progress. Then I thought the better of it. I couldn't even discern my own feelings, I didn't need his influencing me.

"Got it," Nick said, causing me to jump slightly and move away from Victor. He removed his hands from my hair and returned to watching the TV. "Jesus is sending you the images now."

"Thanks, Nick. We owe ya."

"Damn right ya do. Sam Spade out." He hung up, and almost immediately my phone beeped, heralding incoming images.

Victor and I combed through the pictures – photos taken from Sarah Dockum's medical records. I cringed looking over much of it, especially the recent suicide attempt and the multiple entries over the years that insinuated domestic abuse. But one thing was conspicuously missing. The report from immediately after Steve's death, which had been through indeed, gave no indication of altitude sickness. There was no hint of those symptoms anywhere in her records, for that matter. That condition appeared to have afflicted Nate Dockum alone.

* * *

**Rae: Victor tucking someone into bed would be weird, but I agree that he would throw someone into bed. Heck, he probably throws people around just for shits and giggles.**

**Lexi: Xavier is pretty oblivious to everything that's going on, he clearly doesn't care too much about what Rogue's up to. Which isn't to say that the X-Men will remain in the dark forever.**


	43. Ch 43: Now Where Were We?

**Chapter 43: Now Where Were We?**

* * *

"So where does this leave us?" I asked Victor.

"Not sure yet, but the fact that Nate had inexplicable altitude sickness means something, bet on it." He growled the last few words. Certainly it meant something, just as the fact that Sarah hadn't been afflicted meant something. I just didn't have the foggiest idea what it meant yet.

I couldn't help but wonder about the other two players in our little drama, Steve and Thomas Hanson, and if either of them had suffered from the same malady. They hadn't come out with an autopsy report for Steve, at least not publicly, so it might be able to tell about him. But for some reason it was his father's status that I was most curious about. I smiled as I thought of the one place to get some answers. I quickly dialed my phone, giving Victor the universal 'just a minute' signal.

The phone rang twice, then a deep yet melodic voice answered. "Hello, Dr. McCoy speaking."

"Beast, it's Rogue. Quick question for ya."

"But of course, my sweet Southern Belle." Damn this guy was lovable. And he looked like a blue teddy bear. Someone should really market a line of Dr. Hank McCoy stuffed dolls, I'm sure it would make shitloads.

"Any way of find out if someone had high altitude sickness if said someone is dead?"

"Are you referring to the Chronic Mountain Sickness we discussed previously?"

"Yep."

"And how long as the person in question been deceased?"

"A decade."

"I'm afraid that would be quiet impossible, as the tell-tale signs of the disease would be the ratio of red blood cells, which would certainly have deteriorated by now."

"Damn, well it was worth a shot." I bemoaned my own rotten luck, but then thought I still might be able to get something worthwhile out of the blue genius. Something besides his jovial, reassuring voice and a product idea. "Can I ask if you've ever heard of a mutant who had a power that affect someone like this Monge's Syndrome that we've been talking about?"

"Monge's _Disease._ And no, I can't say that I have. Yet it is entirely possible, however, that such a mutation could manifest."

"Would there be any way to tell if someone had that mutation without seeing it in action?"

"Well, let me put it this way: the only mutation that would easily explain the formation of Chronic Mountain Sickness in an individual would be one that allowed an individual to manipulate air pressure."

"In themselves or others?" Victor whispered in my ear. I repeated the question to Beast.

"Either, I suppose. Possible even both."

"So, in order for a mutant to give someone Chronic Mountain Sickness, they would have to control air pressure, either internally or externally?"

"Exactly. If it were internal, the only symptom would be the subject having Monge's Disease. If external, there might be other indications."

"Like bottles being crushed and so forth?"

"Correct. Being in such a mutant's presence might even make your ears pop." I suddenly had an image of a spandex-clad man with billowing cape running around calling himself Captain Ear-pop. I laughed at the image, which garnered an annoyed look from Victor.

"Thank you so much for the info Hank. Keep on being your badass blue self."

His hearty chuckle echoed across the line. "Happy to be of assistance, call me any time."

"Thanks, will do." I hung up and looked at Sabretooth, who was stealthily rising off the couch.

Before I could say a word, he spoke up, "Time for a trip to the Dockum's, don't ya think?"

I nodded as he pulled me up off the sofa.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, folks. I'll try not to do it again!**

**tx peppa: Sabretooth is certainly drawn to Rogue, but I don't even know if he knows how to define it.**

**Rae: Yes. Yes I am trying to torture you. Is it working? *evil smirk***

**Lexi: Yeah, Scott and everyone else they killed off in X3 are alive in this story. They're not central to the plot, so I didn't bother to explain their existence. I'm just going with 'I didn't like that decision, so I'm ignoring it.' But you haven't heard the last of the X-Men in this fic.**


	44. Ch 44: We Need a Lawyer & a Maid, Stat!

**Chapter 44: We Need a Lawyer and a Maid, Stat!**

* * *

We pulled up to the Dockum place, finding it still bedecked in its yellow caution tape and rusting vehicles. I sat in the passenger seat of Victor's truck, just staring at the house for a while. I really didn't want to see inside. From the outside I could just mock how white-trash the place looked, but if I went inside, to the scene of a murder . . . it's not something I wanted to face after an already long and taxing day.

"We goin' in or what?" Victor grumbled, but I noticed he hadn't moved from his seat either.

"Yeah. Just a sec."

"What, is little Rogue afraid she'll see a ghost?"

I turned to glare at him, "I had a long day at work, I endangered my two best friends, which almost drove me nuts, and now I have to go see where some kid was killed. Not really in a great mood right now, Victor."

"You don't have to be in a fucking good mood. You don't have to skip through a damn crime scene singing a jaunty tune, but you do have to see it. Got it? And the first step of that is getting your cute little ass out of my truck."

I let out an angry growl. "Shouldn't the cops have searched every inch of this place already? And the place has been contaminated from weeks of being abandoned."

"The cops didn't know what to look for. And it ain't like we're looking for a fucking DNA sample." He pounced out of the car and yelled back at me, "Now get out here!"

I grumbled a little, but jumped out of his truck. I swear, I was going to break an ankle one of these days, that truck was so fucking jacked-up.

Sabretooth lifted up the police tape for me to walk under, "So chivalry ain't dead," I commented.

"It is dead. I killed it. I got a bit left on me, is all."

I chuckled, then immediately felt bad for doing so in such morbid circumstances. I was about to ask Victor to get into the home when I saw that a small window right by the doorknob had already been broken. I carefully put my arm through and unlocked it from the inside.

We walked into the Dockum house. The first room we came across was the living room, which was untidy, much like the lawn. It was clearly lived in and rarely cleaned, but nothing as bad as you'd see on one of those hoarders shows. It had all the tell-tale signs of being home to a family who was short on time, low on funds, and wasn't terribly concerned with appearances. The once floral couch was stained by many substances, the television was the twin of the one of mine that Victor had broken, there were papers and wrappers everywhere, and the carpet looked like it had a fair amount of dirt stomped into it.

"Come on," Victor told me, "it was supposed to have taken place in the kitchen."

Wandering into that room, it clearly was in worse shape than the rest of the house. Not surprising, considering a teenage boy was killed there, and presumably there had been a fight beforehand. Cabinets and drawers were left ajar, almost everything that had once lain on the counter was knocked over, and many substances were splattered on every available surface. Victor headed to the refrigerator and opened it.

I rolled my eyes, "You're not seriously looking for food right now, are you?"

"Come here, tell me what you see."

I stepped lightly on the floor, feeling it was akin to stepping over a grave. I looked into the fridge. "Everything's broken." It took me a second to realize what those words meant. "Everything's broken." I started to look through the cupboards, and Victor did the same. "Every bottle and can has been broken."

Victor headed to another room, but shouted back, "Naw babygirl, it's exploded."

"Explosive decompression. Well shit."

* * *

**tx peppa: Just so everyone knows, her real comment was this - 'I would the first one to buy a Mccoys stuffed doll. It could have a pull string and it will quote some medical stuff.' I have to agree, someone really needs to make a fluffy Beast doll, it would be awesome.**

**Lexxxi: Glad you got an account. We're going to have the mystery solved before the X-Men reappear, but we're getting close, I swear.**

**Jincofthe2ndLaw: I love hearing the theories! The truth will be coming out pretty soon, so you'll be able to find out if you're right or not.  
**


End file.
